


Let Us Prey

by MaCall (misterpointy)



Series: Zreaks of Nature: A Post-Apocalyptic Fairytale [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Disability, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, For Science!, Gen, Minor Character Death, Multi, POV Original Female Character, POV Third Person Plural, Porn with Feelings, Present Tense, References to Leverage, Season/Series 03, Stealth Crossover, Virology, Wordcount: Over 100.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-09 11:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 104,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misterpointy/pseuds/MaCall
Summary: “I’ve always felt that the real horror is next door to us, that the scariest monsters are our neighbors.”—George A. RomeroOnce upon a time, there lived a girl: a girl whose past trauma gave her the ability to know the difference between living and surviving, a girl who adapted to survive a plague contagious enough to wipe out at least 99.99% of the human population on the planet, a girl who met a hunter off the beaten path and stole his heart. That girl is Lucy Orville, and this is her story.Threequel toLiving Dead GirlandSomething for Nothing.





	1. On the Run

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING** : THIS IS THE THIRD PART OF A SERIES. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE FIRST AND SECOND PARTS, YOU WON’T HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON HERE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. **BEWARE**.
> 
> (1) Series title is a reference to _Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things_ (1972). Story and chapter titles are titles of songs by Judas Priest.
> 
> (2) Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, is purely coincidental.
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
>    
> 

**You can’t touch the world**  
**without being touched back,**  
**not even after the world ends;**  
**every breath is still a shameless seduction,**  
**every moment the latest vital scene.**

Annelyse Gelman, “An Illustrated Guide to the Post-Apocalypse”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 1**  
On the Run

* * *

_Friday, 8 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 300._  
_Lone Oak, GA;_  
_I-85 Northbound._

* * *

It’s been ten months since the global outbreak of the zombie virus spread and wiped out 99.99% of the human population, nine months since Lucy found out she was immune to the zombie virus, seven months since Lucy and Daryl started dating, six months since the group elected her as their leader, four months since they found the storage units where they spent the winter, and a month since she discovered that she made Daryl permanently immune by repeatedly exposing him to her antibodies.

 _All we have is time_ , Lucy thinks, _and each other_.

“Hey,” Alec says and turns in his seat to look at her. “Wake up, Medusa. We got a situation here.”

Lucy muffles a yawn in the hollow of one palm before she narrows her eyes at the images on the screens in their server rig behind her glasses. “It looks like Horde Sigma migrated and merged with Horde Theta,” she murmurs.

Alec nods. “It might be time to test the chemical weapon our friend Izanami has been working on,” he says, “scavenge a heavy-duty aerosolizer from somewhere to disperse it from the road or find a way to drop that shit on the horde like a bomb.”

Lucy shrugs. “We haven’t even started individual testing with handheld spray cans,” she points out. “We need more data.”

“Hey,” Daryl says gruffly over the radio, “as much as I love hearin’ ya’ talk nerdy, darlin’, you’re our eyes in the sky and ya’ gotta tell us what’s goin’ on here.”

Lucy hums softly as she nods because she knows he can’t see what she’s doing. “There’s a horde of a hundred-odd zombies headed up the road to the neighborhood you’re scavenging,” she informs him, “if our calculations are correct, you’ve got ten minutes to get the hell out of dodge before they block your only exit.”

Daryl hums right back at her. “There ain’t nothin’ worth scavengin’ here anyhow,” he mutters. “I think you’re right that another group of survivors is livin’ somewhere in the area. We’ve been comin’ up empty for weeks searchin’ these neighborhoods house to house.”

Lucy shrugs even though she knows he can’t see it. “We’ve got enough supplies in the rigs to last another year or more,” she points out. “These sweeps have been more about seeing if anyone else is alive in our general vicinity.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, “but this still don’t feel right t’ me. What if the other survivors ain’t lookin’ t’ make friends?”

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips. “Hope for the best,” she murmurs. “Plan for the worst.”

“Carl found two cans of dog food in one of the houses,” Rick interjects, “so this sweep wasn’t a total loss.”

Lucy snorts at the sarcasm oozing into the cadence of his voice. “Meet us back at the rendezvous point on the interstate,” she orders. “Medusa out.”

“Vulcan out,” Alec echoes and they go radio silent while Daryl, Rick, Carl, Kate, Gilda, Gert, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Duane, Morgan, T-Dog, Jacqui, and Parker drive the rigs like bats out of suburban hell and leave the horde on the road in their dust.

* * *

_Friday, 8 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 300._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_I-85 Northbound._

* * *

There are six people in the group that are immune to both strains of the zombie virus—Lucy, Daryl, Rick, Beth, Alec, and Andre—but one of those people is crippled, one is still an infant, one is a teenage girl who’s still learning how to survive and thrive in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, and Alec is better suited to running mission control from the server rig than going on supply runs because he’s the only person who understands how their system works inside and out.

While immunity makes those lucky six people safe from the zombies, the group is still outnumbered by millions of the walking dead to one. Those odds are emphatically not in the favor of anyone who isn’t immune, and they all have to stay vigilant because Lucy can only give them so much blood in the event that someone is bitten or scratched. It’s best to avoid the shambling hordes altogether if they can. Which is why Alec built drones to keep track of the zombie hordes in their general vicinity when they were living at the storage units in Peachtree City. Only now that spring has sprung, they’re on the road looking for somewhere to settle on a more permanent basis—preferably someplace where they don’t have to piss and shit in buckets and bury the waste they excrete in the dirt like dogs.

There’s a downside to using the drones to make noise and lead the zombies around: eventually the hordes start to merge, until the roads are clogged with stragglers too bloated or decayed to keep up with the fresher walking corpses and they can’t begin to clear a path even with the drones. After they all regroup at the rendezvous point, Alec opens the back of the server rig to show everyone the migratory data on the hordes they gathered that morning.

“We’ve got no place left to run,” Alec explains, “as soon as Horde Theta meets up with Horde Pi, they’ll cut us off.”

Maggie folds her arms tight across her chest. “We’ll never make it south,” she says tersely.

Daryl frowns, the space between his eyebrows furrowing. “What’d you say?” he asks, “that Horde Pi was about a hundred and fifty head?”

“Yeah,” Glenn says, “but that was last week. It’s twice that by now and Horde Theta is ten thousand at least.”

“We’re blocked,” Maggie adds, “even with the river slowing them down, we can’t get through.”

Rick sighs. “Only thing to do is double back and swing towards Greenville,” he suggests.

“We picked through Greenville already,” Morgan reminds him.

Jacqui nods. “It’s like we spent the winter going in circles,” she murmurs.

“We’ll go west,” Lucy says. “We haven’t been through Newnan yet.”

Rick glances at Lori, who’s sitting in the passenger seat of Hershel’s Silverado because she can’t get into the rigs anymore. “We can’t keep going from house to house,” he says. “We need to find someplace to hole up for a few weeks at least.”

“Alright,” T-Dog says and turns to look at Lucy, “is it cool if we fill up on water from the creek before we head out? I’ll boil it later.”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Yup,” she says, “use the empty five-gallon bottles from the truck full of water coolers we found a few months ago.”

Daryl watches Lucy shuffle over to where Romy’s leash is hooked over a hitch that keeps her trailer attached to Nico’s red jeep and take her corgi for a short walk so the puppy won’t take a piss in the backseat. Kate follows her to walk Harley and keep her company, since nobody goes anywhere alone anymore. Daryl exhales a frustrated noise that snarls up from somewhere deep in his chest because he hasn’t had Lucy to himself in a week since they’ve been on the road sleeping in back of a rig with Carol, Sophia, Kate, and Nico; and he feels like he’s going into withdrawal from not being able to touch or taste her the way that he wants to.

“Lori can’t keep moving for much longer,” Amy says to Rick.

Rick clenches his jaw and swallows the urge to lash out at her. “What else can we do?” he asks, “let her give birth in the back of a rig while we’re still on the run?”

Hershel arches his eyebrows at the former sheriff. “You see a way around that?” he asks.

Daryl clears his throat and breaks the heavy silence that ensues. “Hey,” he says, “while the others wash their panties, let’s go hunt.”

“Sure,” Rick says because the alternative is going to check on Lori and he has no idea how to talk to his wife these days.

Daryl follows the abandoned railway built in 1870 through the trees and stops dead in his tracks at the sight of a prison. It’s got everything Lucy has been talking about: guard towers, a fence they can fortify, a water source right outside for them to tap into, patches of land for growing their own food, enough room for everyone so they don’t all have to keep living on top of each other.

“It’s perfect,” Rick whispers more to himself than to the bowhunter.

Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and taps his earpiece. “Lucy,” he says. “C’mere. We found somethin’ you need t’ see.”

* * *

_Friday, 8 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 300._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

“What do you think?” Rick asks.

Lucy bites her bottom lip as Daryl puts his hands on her waist and lifts her down out of the passenger seat of the semi-truck with the server rig in its trailer. “I think prisons are meant to keep people in and not out,” she informs him, “and that chain link fence will fold like wet cardboard if enough zombies pile up against it. Still,” she flicks her gaze to the guard towers that punctuate both the inner and outer fences, “it’s a good place to start.”

Parker grins at her, with teeth. “Let’s go steal a prison,” she quips before she goes to pick the lock on the front gate.

Alec buckles Andre into his baby carrier as the blonde thief cracks the padlock in four seconds flat and opens the gate. Daryl hitches one of the rigs to the rear end of the overturned bus that’s blocking the entryway and Lucy drives the semi-truck to drag it off to one side while the others shoot up the zombies around the edge of the outer fences. It takes some doing to clear all of the zombies out of the prison yard because the inner gate to the prison complex is open and they just keep coming for hours, but Lucy doesn’t let Rick close the inner gate until dusk because every zombie they shoot from the towers now is one less zombie they’ll have to kill up close and personal later.

While the others cook dinner and reload the ammo they used, Daryl and Lucy sweep the perimeter of the complex and break into the warden’s office to track down a map so they can find out where to scavenge more supplies instead of running around the prison haphazardly and burning daylight. There’s a helicopter that crashed in the grass outside the fence, but all of the defenses are intact as far as they can see.

 _Six cell blocks with fifty two-person cells each. Three in each section outside the main building_ , Lucy thinks as she reads the map of the prison in the low light from the lantern she carried to light her way. _Which is a maximum occupancy of twelve hundred inmates. We put down maybe five hundred zombies this afternoon. There may be a horde of seven hundred or more inside the main building. Alec is right. We need to get that chemical weapon up and running, because twenty-two people killing over a thousand zombies one bullet at a time is inefficient as fuck_.

Daryl squints at her as she extracts her listography notebook from her bag and scrawls a few words near the bottom of one page in her inscrutable messy cursive. “What’re ya’ writin’ down?” he wants to know.

“I’m checking my list of things we need to do if we’re going to live in this place,” Lucy informs him. “Item one: sweep the perimeter to see if all of the walls are still intact. Check. Item two: clear the administrative building of the undead and find a map. Check. Item three: locate the generator and assess any damage—if none is found, turn power back on. Item four: clear at least one cell block to use as living quarters. Item five: scavenge the armory, the infirmary, the commissary, and workshops for supplies. Item six: build a wall thick enough to fill in the space between the outer fences. Item seven: dig trenches around the outside of the fence. Item eight: put up spikes to impale the zombies before they get anywhere near the fence. Item nine: till the prison yard and plant my stash of seeds.”

Daryl smiles at her, a soft twist of his mouth. “That’s my girl,” he drawls and holds her gaze with such an intense look in his blue eyes that her knees go weak, “always thinkin’ ahead.”

Lucy blushes from the roots of her frizzy brown hair to the pale hollow between her breasts as she rolls up the map and shrugs, one-shouldered. “I am what I am,” she deadpans.


	2. Love Bites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : I’d say this chapter is approximately 40% smut. Daryl and Lucy end up fucking in one of the guard towers at the prison in this chapter, because I am terrible. **Beware**.
> 
>  **Additional Tags** : Rough Kissing, Neck Kissing, Dirty Talk, Biting, Foreplay, Breastplay, Nipple Play, Nipple Licking, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Sex, Come Marking, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus.

**There are many ways to value labor,**  
**to eat and be eaten by love.**  
**There are miracles inside us,**  
**you see this in how we are here,**  
**how we survived the cold unbroken**  
**and became something else entirely,**  
**not flame, not matches with countless wood bodies,**  
**not a fire escape drooling gasoline,**  
**but something that rises in the heat.**

Sam Sax, “Folktale”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 2**  
Love Bites

* * *

_Friday, 8 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 300._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After they get a fire going in the prison yard and cook dinner, they sit around the warmth of the flames to eat as the heat from that afternoon seeps into the shadows and their adrenaline from killing the undead fizzles out into the night. There are so many ways that losing the farm and living in the post-apocalyptic wasteland has changed them all over the last eight months.

Hershel has grown a full beard and he’s been teaching basic agriculture and animal husbandry to everyone using the cows and chickens in the livestock trailer. Lucy found a small herd of rabbits almost starved to death at a pet store in Peachtree City and they’ve been living in one of the stalls that isn’t occupied by cows or a chicken coop. Daryl had to find her extra hutches to separate the does so they couldn’t fight over the buck. Beth is still adapting to survive and Daryl has started teaching her to hunt and track, although the snow derailed that for a while. After he got himself a new crossbow at the archery store Lucy found, he gave his Horton Scout HD 125 to her because such a lightweight crossbow is actually meant for children; he just couldn’t afford a more grownup one pre-apocalypse.

Maggie has gotten to know Glenn better now that no one is keeping any secrets and they aren’t constantly in a crisis, and she has been using knowledge gleaned from getting her degree in English lit to help build the library in the big rig she and Lucy nicknamed the Bookmobile. Glenn is the person in charge of coordinating supply runs and choosing the best smaller groups to send on any given mission, because Lucy knows how to delegate instead of dictate. Gert has been teaching more advanced Tae Kwon Do techniques to anyone who wants to learn. Sophia and Carol have earned the equivalent of first-geup red belt, a ranking that usually requires approximately nine months of less intensive training. Carol has also started training under Hershel—adding onto her years of experience working as a nurse in the emergency room at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta before she married Ed and he made her quit working at the hospital as soon as she found out she was pregnant—because she wants to contribute something to the group and because he needs somebody besides Amy to assist with delivering Lori’s baby.

Amy splits her time between assisting with the hands-on medical aspects of Lucy’s immunological research, learning everything Hershel can teach her about surgery in his limited experience with the ins and outs of human anatomy, and seizing every moment she spends with Gilda. Whenever she goes on a supply run, Gilda brings something back for Amy: a mermaid figurine, a dragon plushie, a unicorn statuette. It makes her think of Andrea, of the necklace she wears that hangs over her heart. Amy never thought she would fall in love at the end of the world, but she isn’t sorry that she did.

Kate has been scavenging herb shops and herb gardens in the neighborhoods they’ve picked through to make phytotherapeutic remedies, teas and tinctures among them. Nico wired the rigs to run on solar energy by attaching cells to the roof of the trailers, scavenged a motorcycle of her own and learned from Daryl how to convert the engine, and spent her downtime gaming with Kate, Alec, Gert, Glenn, and T-Dog. After one thing led to another, T-Dog got over his crush on Jacqui and started dating the engineer; they’ve been going strong for five months now.

Jacqui has been mapping their scavenging progress, keeping track of the locations they’ve cleaned out, locations where they didn’t find anything useful, and locations with supplies they should go back for as soon as they settle permanently in a place with extra storage. There are hazardous zones on their map of the state of Georgia where hordes of hundreds of thousands or even millions of zombies have destroyed almost everything in the area, leaving skyscrapers in ruins to reach toward the heavens like clawed fingers. Duane is studying the how-to books in the Bookmobile and helping make cream and butter and cheese using the milk given by Henwen the dairy cow. Morgan has been learning to use a staff, the first weapon students get to use at dojangs that don’t just offer training in hand-to-hand combat; and with his experience as a culinary specialist in the army and as a soldier who learned how to triage on the battlefield, his skill set is vital for their survival.

Parker got bored with supply runs pretty fast until she worked free running and parkour into her missions, modifying her jumping rigs and leaping tall buildings to avoid the zombies in the streets. There’s no need for money in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, but old habits die hard so Parker sometimes robs a bank or a jewelry store just for the fun of it. Alec upgraded the system in the server rig to make things run more smoothly because as impressive as the geopositioning search tool Lucy made is, looking at her system overall made it blatantly obvious to him that her background was in library science instead of computer science. Luckily it didn’t bother her that he saw room for improvement, because if being disabled has taught her anything it would be the ability to acknowledge her own limitations and let other people do what she can’t. Andre is growing like a weed and he can’t read yet, but he can turn the pages of a book and that is one of the coolest things Alec has ever witnessed—second only to sitting next to Halle Berry at the Academy Awards in 2001, the year she won Best Actress.

Rick and Lori, meanwhile, have spent the last eight months not talking about what happened to Shane, or how Carl is going numb to the traumatizing situation they’re in, or the marital problems they had in the past that have festered in the present like a wound gone septic. Which isn’t the best situation to bring a child into, but they’ve got bigger fish to fry in both the figural and literal sense of the phrase.

“Tomorrow we’ll put all the bodies together,” T-Dog says, “we wanna keep them away from that water.”

Jacqui nods. “We can dig a canal under the fence,” she adds. “We’ll have plenty of fresh water.”

“Soil is good,” Hershel murmurs. “We can plant some seeds. Grow tomatoes, cucumbers, soybeans…”

Morgan eyes the former sheriff prowling at the edge of the innermost fence. “That’s his third time around,” he observes, “if any part of this place was compromised, he’d have found it by now.”

“This’ll be a good place to have the baby,” Beth says and smiles in a futile attempt to reassure Lori. “Safe.”

Rick comes to sit by the fire and offers some of his fish to Lori—the fish the group caught back at the creek, that is—before he flicks his gaze to the zombies shambling around the outer courtyard behind the gate he chained shut while the others discuss how to proceed in the morning. “I’ll take watch,” he mutters, “got a big day tomorrow.”

Glenn frowns at him. “What do you mean?” he wants to know.

Rick heaves a sigh. “Look,” he says, “I know we’re all exhausted. This was a great win, but we’ve got to push just a little bit more.”

“We’re on a deadline,” Amy clarifies. “Lori’s past her due date, and the baby could come at any time. We need to be in that prison with a semblance of a sterile environment set up before that happens.”

“On the bright side,” Nico says as she leans her head on T-Dog’s shoulder, “Lucy and Daryl checked the perimeter and learned that all of the defenses are still intact.”

“Which has to mean the prison must’ve fallen in the first couple of weeks or so of the outbreak,” Kate explains, “and with hundreds of zombies in the yard, no way in hell has anyone gotten inside and scavenged the supplies before now.”

Rick nods curtly. “There should be an infirmary,” he clarifies, “a prison commissary.”

Daryl sits in the grass next to Lucy and puts an arm around her, stroking the soft curve of her shoulder as she yawns and snuggles up against him. “We found the armory,” he murmurs, “it’s outside the main complex, but it ain’t too far away.”

Rick nods again. “Weapons, food, medicine,” he says fervently. “This place is a goldmine.”

“On the darker side,” Lucy says as Daryl eats the fish on the plate that Carol offers to him, “the prison had a maximum occupancy of approximately 1,200 inmates on top of personnel and possibly civilian visitors. We could be looking at hundreds of zombies still trapped inside the prison.”

Daryl puts his plate on his lap and licks his fingers clean before he speaks. “We’ll reload some more ammo in the mornin’ before goin’ in,” he says gruffly. “Lucy’s gonna have us search in smaller groups t’ look for them supplies and use the map she found t’ chart our progress.”

Rick grins. “These assholes don’t stand a chance,” he says.

Daryl hums a soft _mm-hmm_ in response as the former sheriff goes to take watch in one of the guard towers. “Hey,” he whispers to Lucy as the others go find someplace to sleep that isn’t in the back of a rig, “I got somethin’ I wanna show ya’. C’mon.”

“Okay,” Lucy whispers back and lets him take her hand as she uses her cane to get back on her feet.

Daryl gently squeezes her fingers and slows down to move at her pace and bring her to the tower in front of the inner gate. When he opens the door, she hobbles past him up the stairs.

There’s a mattress laid out with their bedding, tote bags full of their clothes, and even a few stacks of her books. Apparently he moved in while she reloaded .22 caliber ammo, harvested tissue samples from the dead zombies, and recorded their kill count for the day in her notebook. Lucy turns to look back over her shoulder at him, and blushes hot as she turns to face him because he has such an intense look in his blue eyes that it can only be described as a smolder.

Daryl hunches to put down his crossbow and tracks her with those intense eyes of his like he tracks prey in the forest as she shuffles over to look out at their people below. Lucy has time to prop her cane against the wall in one corner of the tower before he fists one hand in her hair and kisses her hard and filthy and deep. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day,” he drawls as she lets him undo her messy bun so the frizzy tendrils of her hair slither around her shoulders while he backs her up against the wall and pins her with his body, “about fuckin’ your tight little pussy and feelin’ you come all over my cock. We ain’t had enough time t’ ourselves lately, with everyone livin’ on top of each other in the rigs. I missed this,” he murmurs and pulls back to look at her before he cups her face in one hand and strokes her flushed cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “I missed bein’ able t’ touch you however I want and whenever I want.”

Lucy cocks her head in concession because her solar-powered trailer has been converted into a communal kitchen and shower area because of the water heater Nico built for her and installed pre-apocalypse. It’s full of kitchenware and their surplus of assorted hygiene products they found at places like Walmart and Costco, has been for months. “We left the storage units a week ago,” she mumbles. “We also share a bed. You shouldn’t be missing me.”

“I know,” Daryl says gruffly, “but a week’s too long. I’ve been goin’ crazy with how much I wanna be inside ya’.”

Lucy bites her bottom lip to muffle a soft noise that blooms in her throat and kisses him gently. Daryl kisses her back and squeezes her hips before he skims his hands down her thighs, asking for permission without using his words. When he moves his mouth to her neck, Lucy clutches at his unkempt hair and catches his earlobe in between her teeth to nibble and suck on the sensitive flesh the way she knows he likes. Daryl groans and gets close enough to feel her flush against him from hip to chest before he undoes the zipper of her dress and palms her tits through the cups of her soft black lace bra. Lucy moans at the sensation of him licking and biting and sucking on the hard pink nubs of her nipples, the rough scrape of his stubble rubbing against her flesh with delicious friction while he helps himself to her pretty tits.

After her breasts are flushed and hypersensitive from him all but worshiping them, Daryl tugs her dress up over her head and throws it out of sight, out of mind before he turns her around to face the wall and drops to his knees behind her to unzip her boots. Lucy spreads her legs and sucks in a sharp breath while he strips off her leggings and her panties and smooths his hands up the backs of her thighs to squeeze her fat ass. Daryl kisses the curve of her back and spreads the apple cheeks of her ass apart before he slips two fingers into her wet pussy and sinks his teeth into her flesh.

Lucy whimpers, but he knows her well enough by now to know he didn’t hurt her. When he adds a third finger and strokes at that one sweet spot inside her, she slaps one of her hands over her mouth to muffle a scream as her pussy flutters and pulses tight around him. Daryl smirks and licks the swell of her ass to soothe the sting of his teeth because even though he didn’t break the skin, he knows from experience that she won’t be able to sit down for a few days without remembering this and that makes his dick so hard he palms himself through the thick material his jeans with the hand he isn’t using to get her off quick and dirty.

After she comes and drips all over his hand, Daryl splays one of his hands over her flabby belly and fists the other around his dick to grind the blunt head against her achingly wet hole before he buries himself inside of her so hard and so fast he bottoms out on the first thrust.

Lucy is still trembling from her first orgasm, her pussy squeezing him so tight he almost blows his load from that sweet feeling alone. Daryl hunches to kiss her over her shoulder while he fucks her hard and nips at her bottom lip with a grunt as she arches her back and moves her hips against his to take him even deeper with every stroke.

“Aw, _fuck_ ,” Daryl growls low and rough in her ear and pulls out to come all over her ass.

Lucy slumps against the wall and turns to look at him over her shoulder. “You made a mess,” she informs him indignantly.

Daryl snorts and smirks at her before he flicks his gaze lower to feast his eyes on the sight of his spunk on her pale freckled skin, marking her as his in a primal sort of way. “Yeah,” he drawls, “but don’t worry, darlin’. I’m gonna lick ya’ nice and clean, if y’ain’t too sore for that.”

Lucy bites her bottom lip as her oversensitized pussy throbs at the thought of his mouth on her. “Okay,” she says and he grins at her before he cups her face to give her short but sweet kiss and gets on his knees behind her again.

When her knees buckle and give out from under her in the aftermath of her seventh orgasm of the night and Lucy tells him to stop because she feels too sensitive to even begin to think about coming again, Daryl unceremoniously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and picks her up before he carries her over to the mattress that is their bed.

Lucy flops onto her back and looks over at him shyly because she knows he jerked himself off while he was eating her out and it’s nice to know how much she turns him on, and that he thinks a week of not having sex with her is too long. There was a long stretch of time in her life where Lucy never even thought about sex with another person, where she masturbated because it was fun and because it helped with her chronic pain but she honestly thought she was going to die a virgin because she was too antisocial to start dating again. Daryl was something that she never saw coming. Pun unintended. “I always wanted a house with a tower,” she mumbles, “like something out of a fairytale.”

Daryl snorts. “This ain’t no fairytale,” he rasps.

“We fell in love pretty much at first sight,” Lucy retorts, “our first kiss happened after I rode into a field on a white horse. What would you call our love story if not a fairytale?”

Daryl shrugs and kisses her, soft and sweet and slow. “I’d call it a true story,” he murmurs, “you wanted true love, and you got it.”

Lucy squirms under the sinewy arm he put around her shoulders until her upper body is half on top of his to kiss his chest over where his heart is beating. “I love you, too,” she says.


	3. Dying to Meet You

**You have wandered**  
**lost a long time,**  
**the woods all dark now,**  
**birded and eyed.**

 **Then a light, a cabin, a fire, a door standing open—**  
**the fairy tales warn you:**  
**do not go in,**  
**you who would eat will be eaten.**

 **You go in. You quicken.**  
**You want to have feet.**  
**You want to have eyes.**  
**You want to have fears.**

Jane Hirshfield, “Amor Fati”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 3**  
Dying to Meet You

* * *

_Saturday, 9 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 301._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Lucy wakes up with a yelp at the sound of unsuppressed gunfire ricocheting bright and early. Daryl snorts with quiet laughter as she puts her glasses back on and he gives her a shit-eating grin because the blankets fall to reveal her still totally naked from the night before. Lucy rolls her eyes at him as she grabs a clean bra and the matching pair of panties, hooking the clasp in the front and shuffling it around to the back. “Please tell me they’re keeping track of their shot counts,” she murmurs as Daryl sweeps her frazzled hair to one side and nuzzles the crook of her neck before he kisses her nape above the horned owl with eerie yellow eyes inked on her skin. Lucy turns and lets him put his sinewy arms around her waist to pull her back against his chest as she kisses the jut of his jaw, his beard and stubble rough against her lips.

Daryl kisses her mouth with a soft hum that starts deep in his chest and rests his forehead against hers before he answers. “I think we all know better ’n to mess with your record keepin’ by now,” he points out dryly.

Lucy shrugs and nuzzles his nose with hers. “It won’t always be wasteland,” she retorts, “and people are going to want to know how this all happened someday. There’s so much we don’t know about the past because nobody bothered to write things down. If our group is the beginning of a new society, I want a record of that. I am a librarian. It’s what I do.”

Daryl nods and gives her a squeeze with his whole body hunched around hers before he lets her go and looks down at their people below as she gets dressed to kill, in black leggings she doesn’t mind staining with blood and gore and a plastic rain poncho over her dress. “I never knew what hope looked like ’til I met ya’,” he tells her softly, “ain’t never seen anythin’ so beautiful.”

Lucy slumps awkwardly because she doesn’t know how to shoulder the weight of his faith in her, but she loves him for voicing it all the same. Daryl has never been a talkative guy, and she loves that he feels comfortable enough with her to put his feelings for her into words.

 _I guess hope looks like a fat girl armed to the teeth_ , she thinks as she loads all three of her guns and fills the messenger bag slung across her body underneath the poncho with extra ammo. “I didn’t know falling in love could be anything but a mistake I kept making until you,” she informs him shyly before she adds, “you give me hope too.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils and cups her face in both hands to kiss her so thoroughly and heartrendingly sweet that her toes curl into the orthopedic insoles of her boots, and something deep inside her aches as a flare of heat shoots down her spine. “C’mon,” he says gruffly, his breath ghosting over her lips. “Let’s go make history.”

* * *

Glenn unchains the inner gate and waits with the others for those with immunity to thin the herd of zombies that spill out in shambles, armed with sharp implements to stab the zombies in the face through the gaps in the chain link fence.

“Ready?” Hershel asks before the gate opens.

Lucy flicks her gaze to Daryl before she nods and puts a pair of plastic lab goggles on over her glasses to avoid getting blood spatter on them or possibly in her eyes. “Okay,” she says, “stab and shoot as many as you can in the outer courtyard while Daryl, Beth, Alec, Rick, and I work our way through to the inner courtyard. When this building is clear, you can start moving into C block. How fast we clear the building depends on the number of zombies inside. Keep track of your kills and don’t forget to collect your shell casings.”

“This is why you made us mix extra gunpowder all winter until we had two whole trailers full,” Gert deduces, “you knew we’d need a stockpile of reloading supplies to take someplace where we could settle permanently.”

Lucy shrugs. “There’s a method to the madness,” she deadpans.

Daryl snorts and slings his crossbow over his shoulder before he draws his hunting knife. Alec leaves Andre with Parker—who wears the baby carrier like she would rather be standing on top of a skyscraper wearing a jumping rig about to take flight than having an infant strapped to her chest—while he, Lucy, Daryl, Beth, and Rick make their way into the courtyard in front of cell blocks A, B, and C. When the zombies get past them and shuffle over to claw at the fence, they get stabbed in the head for their trouble.

Carol is up in one of the guard towers with Sophia, Duane, Jacqui, and Morgan, covering them by sniping the zombies with their rifles. Sophia has to balance hers on the tower railing, taking the kickback against her shoulder without even flinching. Duane used to cry at the thought of shooting anyone or anything, but now the zombies look less like people and more like the monsters he knows they are.

Daryl has watched Lucy run through her forms and katas on the days she feels up for them, seen her swing the machete he gave her so fast he hears more than sees the force of her blade. Only he’s never seen her in close combat until now, and he can’t help but gape a little bit as she cuts through the horde with the same brutal efficiency she applies to everything else she does. Which is more proof of her theory that the virus weakens the bones of its hosts somehow, because the skulls of these zombies crack like twigs snapping under the feet of someone who doesn’t know how to walk in the woods.

Lucy doesn’t make the complicated strikes and spinning moves look effortless: she’s huffing and puffing and her plump face is sweaty and flushed, but her smile is nothing short of breathtaking. It’s a good thing she made him immune with sex, because otherwise he’d be dead six ways to Sunday by now because he can’t stop looking at her. Lucy stops to scoop up two sets of keys from dead guards and they clank softly every time she moves, but that doesn’t stop her from being more lethal than an undead horde.

Nico, T-Dog, Gert, Glenn, and Maggie push in once the main chunk of the courtyard is clear. T-Dog grabs a riot shield from one of the fallen prison guards as two zombies in full riot gear shuffle out from behind a dumpster.

Lucy holds up one hand to stop Morgan from sniping them and glances at Daryl, who’s drawn back his bowstring with an arrow nocked and is aiming at one of them. “I want that gear intact,” she informs him, “and those helmets are made to withstand a lot of force. I don’t think an arrow is going to cut it.”

“What do you suggest?” Rick asks as two more zombies in full riot gear shuffle out of a smaller courtyard to their immediate right.

Lucy kicks the feet out from under one of them and keeps her boot on its back while she jams her machete up underneath the base gasket of its helmet. “I suggest we work around the face shield,” she deadpans as she moves to flip the aforementioned shield up with the handle of her cane and stab yet another zombie in the face.

“I want one of those ponchos for next time,” Maggie says and grimaces as she looks down at the blood and gore all over herself.

Kate grins at her from under the hood keeping the spatter out of her hair. “There are more in one of the trailers full of clothes,” she informs her, “do you want a green one to match your name? We have a bunch of different colors.”

“Sure,” Maggie says and grins back as she cracks open the skull of another zombie with a swing of her cleaver.

After they clear the smaller courtyard, they sweep the building that contains three of the six cell blocks in the prison and haul the bodies outside. There aren’t many reanimated corpses inside because most of the prisoners were taken out of their two-person cells, shot execution style, and left to rot. A, B, and C block were for male inmates; D, E, and F block were for female convicts. West Georgia Correctional Facility was originally a federal prison for women, but the government eventually converted the complex into separate prison camps segregated by gender to accommodate for the disproportionate number of male inmates to female convicts: statistically ninety-three percent men and seven percent women.

Lucy hobbles back inside and climbs a staircase to find a fifth set of keys on a guard who blew his brains out before she hobbles down again with her nose wrinkled, the keys clanking in her hand. “It smells like death in here,” she says. “We’re lucky this isn’t porous or permeable stone, but I’m still going to douse this whole place in bleach the first chance I get.”

While the bodies are being dragged out of the building and piled onto a flatbed so they can be taken outside the fence and burned, she gets anyone who isn’t busy doing that to help her clean out C block and bleach everything to make it smell like something other than rotten flesh. There are filthy mattresses that end up being stacked in the cells at the ends of the block; they scavenged better mattresses over the winter and they don’t want to sleep on these if they don’t have to, but they’re not going to throw them out without at least trying to clean them first because that would be wasteful and they can’t afford to waste anything in the post-apocalyptic wasteland. While the others are cleaning and disposing of the bodies by driving them out to the highway so the fire won’t bring more zombies their way, Alec takes Nico and T-Dog to find the backup generators and turn the power back on.

Lucy tilts her head up and looks at the ceiling as the lights flicker to life. Then she unlocks the door to the cell block and lets it swing open almost like an invitation as her people crowd inside with their baggage in the literal and figural sense of the word.

“It’s secure?” Carol asks.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound. “We cleared out three cell blocks and got the backup generators running.”

“What about the rest of the prison?” Hershel wants to know.

Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and sheathes his hunting knife. “While y’all start movin’ in,” he says, “we’re gonna have lunch and scavenge the armory.”

“I found keys on some of the guards,” Lucy adds. “Daryl and Glenn both have sets,” she pauses to hand the other two sets to Kate and Nico, “and now you do too. Lock up every time you leave, just in case.”

Carol smiles at Lori. “Come on,” she murmurs and moves to put a hand at the small of her back to help her waddle into the cell where they set up a bed for her.

Lori turns to look at Rick longingly over her shoulder, but he turns away abruptly and walks out of the cell block to help unload some of the rigs. Which doesn’t go unnoticed by Lucy, but conflict resolution can wait until after lunch.

There’s a guard station just outside the cell block with a holding cell and a breakroom complete with a bathroom, a small kitchen, and a few tables. Lucy unrolls the map she found and sits at a table to keep track of their progress with one hand while she eats a cold mac ‘n’ cheese sandwich with the other. “There’s a library here,” she mumbles and points at the building with one finger, “and a machine workshop.”

Daryl nods. “We can use the bedframes from the cells for scrap,” he suggests, “start repurposin’ all them abandoned cars on the road eventually, strip ’em for parts and scrap the frames.”

Lucy smiles at him and his heart stutters deep in his chest. “Great idea,” she informs him as she writes that on her list of plans for their new home.

Daryl smiles back and squeezes her knee under the table before he goes to make himself some lunch. “I ain’t sleepin’ in no cage,” he tells her as he brings her a can of Dr. Pepper from one of the coolers they brought in from the rigs.

“I thought we could take the library,” Lucy says matter-of-factly. “There’s a big office they probably used for circulation that can be converted into a bedroom, and it has its own bathroom.”

Daryl squints at her, scrutinizing. Lucy knows all about the nights he spent in the drunk tank back when he was younger, how much he hated the feeling of being locked up with or without Merle to keep him company. “Sounds good,” he says gruffly as heat crawls up the back of his neck because he likes knowing that she’s thinking about him as much as he’s thinking about her.

After they eat lunch, she puts her poncho and goggles back on and helps scavenge the armory. There aren’t many firearms since the guards would’ve been using them during the outbreak, but it’s stocked with ammunition, riot shields, bulletproof tactical gear, tasers, smoke grenades, and flash grenades. After they bring it all back to the guard station, Lucy takes inventory while they put it all on the tables.

“Not bad,” Daryl says.

“Flashbangs,” Rick murmurs, “CS triple chasers. Not sure how they’d work on zombies, but we’ll take it.”

“CS means orthochlorobenzalmalonitrile,” Lucy points out.

Daryl narrows his eyes at her, confused. “What the hell is that?” he asks.

“Tear gas,” Lucy informs him. “These grenades are full of aerosolized orthochlorobenzalmalonitrile. It’s a cyanocarbon that was classified as nonlethal pre-apocalypse, but exposure can damage your heart, your lungs, and your liver as well as your throat, mouth, eyes, and nose. Separate those from the smoke grenades so nobody accidentally mistakes one for the other and sets off a toxic gas bomb.”

Rick slowly lowers the triple chaser in his hand and puts it back on the table. “Good call,” he says.

Daryl flicks his gaze to the pile of riot gear the others stripped from the zombified prison guards before they burned the bodies, still dripping grossness onto the tarp where they’re waiting to get soaked in bleach. “I ain’t wearin’ that shit,” he says.

Nico rolls her eyes at him. “You don’t have to, Katniss,” she retorts. “You aren’t one of the people the zombies want to bite.”

Daryl shrugs and cocks his head in concession. “Fair enough,” he mutters.

* * *

“Okay,” Lucy says as soon as everyone has assembled in the guard station for further instructions except for Lori, who is now eight days overdue to give birth. “These are your missions that you have no choice but to accept because most of you voted me into a position of power for some reason. Daryl and I are going to sweep the underground level of the complex and clear it out. Rick, Morgan, and T-Dog, you’re going to find the cafeteria. Alec, Parker, and Gert, you’re going to find the commissary. Maggie, Beth, and Glenn, you’re going to locate the infirmary. Hershel,” she flicks her gaze to the vet and shakes her head because he’s putting on body armor, “you’re going to stay here with the others. I know you want to help, but you’re one of three people we have with formal medical training and I need you to monitor Lori a hell of a lot more than I need you clearing out zombies that could bite and kill you. Carol, Sophia, Duane, and Carl, you’re guarding the doors on either side of the cell block. I want you each to take a gun, and take out anything or anyone that isn’t us.”

“I’mma put Andre down for his nap first,” Alec interjects, “I’m sure we all want him to sleep through the night later.”

Parker nods emphatically, her eyes gone wide in horror at the memories of Andre waking them up every two hours back at the storage units.

Lucy muffles a yawn in the hollow of her palm and makes a mental note to take a long nap once they’re done sweeping the rest of the prison. “Stay in contact over the radio,” she orders. “Watch each other’s backs and don’t get bitten or scratched. I don’t have enough blood in the refrigerator rig to save all of you, and I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“Got it,” Rick says before he leaves with his team.

Nico makes them all check in over the radio to test their connection as Daryl goes to open the door that leads down into a place where you’re never supposed to go in a horror movie: the basement. There’s a series of tunnels under the prison leading to underground cells with thick metal doors that were used for solitary confinement. Lucy flips a switch to turn on the lights as they reach the bottom of the staircase. If the map she found is right, the tunnels are a circle like an ouroboros with no beginning or end.

It’s quiet until a muffled scream rips through the stale air. Lucy notices one of the cell doors is cracked open and struggles to pull it all the way open before she takes a look inside. It’s a shirtless man with long brown hair matted with sweat in patches and frizzing into unruly curls around his face trying to amputate his own arm below the elbow with a serrated knife because he was bitten, using his belt as a tourniquet.

“Stop!” Lucy yelps and hobbles over to grab the knife out of his hand. Which doesn’t work because this man is built like a brick shithouse and he doesn’t want to let go.

When the wild-eyed man turns and sees a tiny librarian in a poncho and safety goggles trying and failing miserably to unclench his fist and take his knife, he frowns at her around the damp wad of fabric in his mouth and spits his shirt out before he grabs her by the hood and shoves her away. “Look, sweetheart,” he tells her urgently, “I don’t know who you are or what the hell you’re doin’ here, but I gotta do this. I’ll die if I don’t.”

“Nope,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound as she shakes her head slowly, “I have a way to keep the infection from killing you without amputating your arm. Please just put down the knife and come with me,” she tucks her cane in the crook of her elbow and holds up both her hands in surrender. “ _Please_. Let me save you.”

That makes him snort. “It’s too late for that,” he says and something tells her that he isn’t talking about the bite.

“It’s never too late,” Lucy retorts.

When she forces herself to meet his eyes, he’s staring at her like he’s trying to figure out whether or not she’s full of shit for saying that or if he should be pissed off because she believes what she’s saying and he stopped believing in a way that made him anything but damned a long time ago.

“I’m Lucy,” she informs him, “Lucy Orville.”

That makes him snort again, but with an edge of hopeful incredulity on top of the bitter cynicism. “You tellin’ me I’ve seen the light?” he asks in a hoarse voice before he reaches out to touch her hood and pull it down.

“Hey,” Daryl snarls from the doorway to the cell, “you keep your damn hands off my girl.”


	4. Troubleshooter

**Without this knowledge, you’ll never make it:**  
**it’s one part fashion advice and two parts survivalist.**  
**Learn to talk to people so they think you’re honest,**  
**but never be honest. Cooking eggs may save your life,**  
**so crack them, neat and firm, pour into the skillet,**  
**stir gently. Forget about your shoes; people will judge**  
**you by your shine, the imminent light you offer them.**

Jeannine Hall Gailey, “I Forgot to Tell You the Most Important Part”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 4**  
Troubleshooter

* * *

_Saturday, 9 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 301._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Daryl expects the cell to contain something dead or undead. What he doesn’t expect is a shirtless man about to cut off his own arm. It makes him think of Merle, of the disembodied hand he buried in the forest by the creek back at the farm because he couldn’t think of any other way to say goodbye to the brother he lost and move on with his life. When he sees the other man reach out to touch Lucy without her permission, he slips his finger onto the trigger of his loaded crossbow and narrows his eyes to aim at the other man’s head. “Hey,” he snarls, “you keep your damn hands off my girl.”

Lucy adjusts her grip on her cane as she turns to look at him. “It’s okay, Daryl,” she tells him, “he’s not going to hurt me.”

Daryl flicks his gaze to the other man, who’s staring at him like he’s trying to calculate the odds of being able to take the crossbow out of his hand without taking an arrow in the process. “I don’t give a shit,” he says gruffly. “I ain’t gonna let some asshole we don’t know put his hands on you.”

Lucy bites her bottom lip to hide a smile. Daryl is being rude, but he means well; he knows what she’s been through and that she doesn’t like being touched by people she doesn’t know, especially men.

“Medusa,” Rick cuts in over the radio. “We’ve got a situation here.”

Lucy frowns. “What’s the situation, Officer Friendly?” she asks.

“There are survivors in the cafeteria,” Rick answers, “five inmates, all men.”

Lucy glances at the man who is still holding a knife like he thinks he might have to use it. Daryl is glaring at him with a feral look in his blue eyes that makes her think he might feel threatened by a shirtless man standing too close to her and looking at her like she was heaven sent, a light in the darkness. “I found another survivor in the basement,” she says, “he was bitten and I think he would rather die like a man than let me help him because not even the zombie apocalypse could kill toxic masculinity.”

That makes the man chuckle, long and low. “What the hell,” he says, “I got nothin’ left to lose. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Lucy slumps her shoulders and exhales a sigh because the tension eases out of her as soon as the knife is back in its sheath and the man puts his shirt back on. “We have to stop by the cafeteria,” she informs him, “my men need backup.”

“I can take you to the cafeteria,” the no longer shirtless man offers.

Lucy shakes her head slowly. “I know where the cafeteria is,” she informs him. “I found a map of the prison yesterday and memorized it.”

“What’d you say your name was?” Daryl asks the other man as they walk up the stairs with a bolt aimed at his back.

“I didn’t,” he says before he answers the question. “I’m Eliot Spencer.”

“Wait,” Lucy says as Daryl glances back at her over his shoulder because they both know that name. “Eliot Spencer, the retrieval specialist who worked with Parker and Alec Hardison pre-apocalypse?”

Eliot frowns at her, his brow furrowing as his eyes narrow in a futile attempt to hide the soft gleam of hope in them. “You guys know Parker and Hardison?” he asks in a raw voice.

Lucy ducks her head and nods, short but sweet. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound. “We found them living in a storage unit about six months ago. I sent them to scavenge the commissary.” Then she reaches up under her hood and taps her earpiece. “Vulcan,” she says, “report.”

Eliot snorts at the _Star Trek_ reference that is Alec’s codename and keeps walking down the hallway to the commissary—the prison complex is three interconnected structures, six two-story cell blocks with a hundred and fifty two-person cells on each floor and the main three-story building that contains the administrative offices, the commissary, the infirmary, the cafeteria, and the library. It’s not far to the cafeteria from the basement that circles the main building, if you have the keys to unlock the right door.

“There’s a bunch of stuff in here,” Parker answers her instead of Alec. “Soap. Instant ramen. Stamps. All the usual suspects.”

Lucy smiles even though she knows Parker can’t see her. “I found a friend of yours,” she tells her softly, “you once told me that he could make a bomb out of fertilizer and blackstrap molasses.”

Parker doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then she laughs, the sound bubbling up like sparkling fizz in her throat. “I don’t believe in luck,” she says, “but you’re the luckiest person I’ve ever met.”

Lucy smiles wider. “Meet us in the cafeteria,” she orders. “Officer Friendly has a situation and needs backup.”

“Roger that,” Parker deadpans before she goes radio silent to save the battery.

After they leave the basement, Eliot does end up leading them to the cafeteria because Daryl is pointing his crossbow at his back and Lucy is walking behind them; and the retrieval specialist tells Lucy about the prisoners who’ve been locked in the kitchen for the last ten months on the way. Lucy stops just short of the door to the cafeteria and shoots the zombies piling up against it one by one until her clip is empty. Then she crouches with her fingers clenched around the handle of her cane and uses the barrel of her .22 to sweep up her shell casings into the jar she keeps in her purse, careful not to touch the metal and burn herself with the residual heat of the gunfire. Eliot flicks his gaze to Daryl before he goes to hold the door for her and narrows his eyes at the archer on their way inside.

Parker jumps on the hitter a split second later, wrapping herself around him to give him a hug with her whole body. “What happened to you?” she asks.

“I got bit,” Eliot says.

Alec glances down at the chunk of flesh torn out of his forearm, his dark eyes wide. “It’s okay,” he says, “Lucy can fix that.”

“It’s true,” Parker adds as she extricates herself from him. “We’ve seen her save people from the infection before, including Alec.”

Eliot glances sidelong at Lucy as Alec drags him into a hug. “Dammit, Hardison!” he growls as the hacker lets him go, “you’re supposed to know better than to let a fuckin’ zombie sink its teeth into you!”

“I didn’t get bit,” Alec retorts. “I got infected with the airborne virus. Which is something that can happen when you need to breathe air in order to stay alive. Also,” he arches his eyebrows at the wound on his forearm, “how in the hell did a zombie get the jump on you? I’ve seen you move.”

Eliot shrugs. “It was dark,” he mutters, “I didn’t see ’em coming. There were hundreds, Hardison. I couldn’t take ’em all out.”

“I don’t suppose you remember how many zombies you took out before you were bitten?” Lucy asks.

Eliot nods, very distinctively. “Like two hundred and eight,” he tells her. “Why?”

“Who the hell are you people?” a Hispanic inmate clutching a gun whose name is Tomas according to Eliot asks before Lucy has a chance to answer the hitter.

“What happened to you?” a skinny black inmate named Andrew wants to know.

Daryl squints at the five inmates and keeps his crossbow aimed at them. “Why don’t you come on outta there?” he drawls. “Slow and steady.”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly as the five men come out from behind the grate. Tomas and Andrew look oddly familiar, but she’s not sure why. There are three more prisoners: a scrawny white guy with a handlebar moustache named Axel who’s hunching his shoulders to make himself look smaller and two black men, one named Oscar who towers over almost everyone because he’s six-foot-four, and one named Anton who goes by the nickname Big Tiny who towers over everyone because he’s six-foot-eight. Lucy has never seen anyone so tall in person; but she’s five-foot-two, so she’s used to being the shortest person in the room.

Daryl glares at Tomas, at the hammerless revolver in his hand. “Hey,” he says, “easy now. Ain’t nobody needs t’ get hurt.”

“I got bit,” Eliot says again to answer one of the questions still floating around in the ether.

Lucy glances at Rick as Tomas aims his Smith & Wesson at Eliot. “I’m taking him back to C block,” she informs him. “I want you to load up everything in the pantry and bring it all back to our kitchen. If they’ve been living in here since the beginning of the global outbreak, I’m guessing this kitchen isn’t sanitary.”

Tomas flicks his gaze to her before he turns to point the revolver at her face. “I don’t think so,” he says, “everything in that pantry is ours, gringa.”

Only he doesn’t get a chance to shoot anyone, because Eliot moves to grab the Smith & Wesson Model 442 and yank it out of Tomas’ grip. When he holds it out to her like an offering, Lucy takes it and opens the chamber to find three .38 Special caliber bullets in the five-round cylinder.

“I’m going to give this gun back to you,” she informs Tomas as the zombies drawn to their location by the smell of fresh meat scratch and claw at the door to the cafeteria and moan ominously, “because it would be rude to leave you in here without a way to defend yourself against the undead horde in the hallway. If you do anything to make me regret that, I won’t have to kill you myself. I have the power to get other people to kill you where you stand and dispose of your body while I take a nap. No tengo el chichi pa farolillos. Got it?”

Tomas arches his eyebrows at her in surprise as she offers the revolver to him grip first, with one bullet left in the chamber. “Sí,” he says in a voice like an oil slick, “oigo lo que me dices y entiendo.”

“Good,” Lucy says and turns back to Rick before she adds, “everything in the pantry is ours now. Take it.”

Eliot goes to open the door while Daryl keeps his crossbow aimed at Tomas’ left eye. Morgan and T-Dog are both keeping their guns on him, too. Lucy has saved their lives enough times that they’re willing to kill to protect her—or any of their people, for that matter. Gert, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Parker, and Alec start loading the contents of the pantry onto the platform truck they brought until it’s piled high with food.

“Who the hell are you people, anyway?” Tomas asks again.

“Don’t look like no rescue team,” Axel adds.

“If a rescue team is what you’re waiting for,” Rick says, “you’re shit out of luck.”

“Hey!” Andrew shrieks as Eliot grunts and hauls the heavy door open. “Are you crazy? Don’t open that!”

“We got this,” T-Dog retorts as their anxious but adaptable leader holds out her arm for the zombies to sniff.

It’s almost comedic how fast they stop trying to claw at her with their fingers and gnaw on her flesh, twisting on stiff legs and shambling the other way before she draws her .22 and shoots all nine of them in the head. There’s one straggler out in the hallway that she blows away before she reloads with a new ten-round clip. Morgan and T-Dog use a bō staff and a fire poker to take out a few more in full riot gear that make it through the door.

“Who the hell are you?” Tomas asks.

Lucy snaps her .22 into the holster at the small of her back and shifts her weight onto her cane as she turns to look at him over her shoulder. “I’m Lucy Orville,” she informs him, “and you’re in my world now.”


	5. Raw Deal

**Sometimes the hardest habit to break is the habit of doing nothing beyond the necessary.**

Mira Grant, _Feed_

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 5**  
Raw Deal

* * *

_Saturday, 9 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 301._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Alec and Parker told enough stories about the retrieval specialist during those long months they stayed in the storage units that it’s hard not to trust him, especially since the other criminals in the prison are perfect strangers who don’t have anyone in the group to vouch for them. Glenn unlocks C block to let Eliot into the fold and Carol puts in his IV while Amy sets up the transfusion. Lucy strips out of her poncho and dumps it into a laundry basket with the teal one Kate had been wearing that morning as the teams of three she sent to scavenge the main building start bringing the supplies they found into B block and sorting them by use.

“Food’s here,” Morgan says as they push the platform truck into the guard station and start unloading the food in the kitchen.

“What’d you find?” Duane asks him through the door to C block.

“Canned beef,” T-Dog says with a grin that seeps with relish into his voice. “Canned corn. Canned cans.”

Nico can’t help but grin at how much her dork of a boyfriend has missed beef, even the canned variety. “There’s a lot more where this came from,” she adds.

Gert and Glenn haul another platform truck into the kitchen while Gilda takes inventory in B block, making a list of what they have and what they need for storage: multipurpose airtight boxes for anything from canned food to seeds to more gunpowder, U-line racks and chests of drawers for clothes since prison cells don’t have closets, bookshelves since the walls aren’t made for building shelves into the smooth impermeable stone.

Lucy flops into a chair outside the holding cell and muffles a yawn in the hollow of one palm before she opens the bottle of water she took out of the cooler they brought in from one of the rigs. Daryl stands by the table next to her with his crossbow drawn and a bolt aimed at the doorway that leads from the main building to their cell block in case the convicts try anything stupid. Lucy offers the bottle to him wordlessly and he takes a swig before he gives it back to her.

“What d’you think we should do about the prisoners?” he wants to know.

Lucy shrugs. “I just took the only thing of value they had to trade,” she informs him, “so now they have two choices: leave, or die.”

Daryl squints at her, scrutinizing. “You’d kill ’em?” he asks, “just like that?”

Lucy frowns at him. “I don’t want to,” she clarifies, “but I don’t know where the Department of Corrections is located in this state. Which is the only place besides a federal repository of criminal records where we could find out what they were convicted of and whether or not they’re a threat to our people. I don’t know if we have time to hunt down that information. There’s so much to do here.”

“It’s in Forsyth,” Daryl murmurs, “over in Monroe County. It’s about seventy miles from here. You and me could get there and back in a few hours, less if we take my bike and we gun it the whole way.”

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek. Daryl was never incarcerated for longer than a night in the drunk tank, but he did a lot of things he could’ve gone to jail for pre-apocalypse. These inmates are a mirror showing him a reflection of who he might’ve been through a glass, darkly. It occurs to her that if she hadn’t given him a chance, they never would’ve gotten to where they are today. “I thought about letting them live in a cell block on the women’s side of the prison,” she informs him, “because it has different locks so giving them the keys won’t also give them a way to kill us all in our sleep. There’s just one problem: they wouldn’t be able to leave and scavenge their own supplies unless they had keys to the gates, too. We’d have to share ours, either the supplies our people spent all winter scavenging or the keys to the gates. I’m not comfortable with either of those options.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says and huffs out a sigh, “me neither.”

Lucy chews on her left thumbnail without biting through it until the prisoners creep into the liminal space between the guard station and C block. Tomas is carrying the hammerless Smith & Wesson in the front of his pants because he isn’t a subtle kind of guy. Which is dangerous, because a gun with enclosed internal lockwork can be fired without melodramatically cocking the hammer. Those kind of revolvers are ideal for concealed carry and close combat, even though most of them don’t hold more than six rounds in their cylinders. Although the way he kept his finger on the trigger while he had the muzzle aimed at the floor of the kitchen tells her that he doesn’t know enough about guns to shoot with any accuracy. Which is why he got to keep one bullet. If she thought he might be a halfway decent shot, that was a risk she never would’ve taken.

“That’s far enough,” Daryl snarls and slips his finger onto the trigger of his crossbow.

Axel and Oscar stay behind Tomas, keeping their distance while Andrew tries to stay close to back him up. Anton glances up into the guard station, where Parker is perched with a rifle in her hands and a coil of rope clipped to the belt around her waist.

Tomas slants his gaze to Lucy in her blood-spattered leather boots and an incongruously colorful green, yellow, pink, black and white floral print sundress over a black camisole and leggings. “Cell block C,” he says, “Cell four. That’s mine, gringa. Let me in.”

Lucy snorts and takes another drink of water. _No way in hell, pendejo_ goes unspoken but not unheard.

“Today’s your lucky day, fellas,” Daryl informs the convicts with a caustic grit in his Southern drawl. “You’ve been pardoned by the state of Georgia. You’re free t’ go.”

“What’s going on in there?” Tomas asks.

“Ain’t none of your concern,” Daryl retorts.

Tomas narrows his eyes and draws the Smith & Wesson as he takes a menacing step towards them “Don’t be telling me what’s my concern,” he says.

Lucy draws both of her revolvers and clicks the safety off so fast that the prisoners hear the cocking of her guns before they see that she moved her hands. After ten months of practice, she’s a freakishly quick draw even though she’s lost all of the functionality in one of her wrists.

Parker aims her rifle at Tomas and frowns as she looks down at Anton, because he’s the reason Eliot was at this prison in the first place. Mike had called Alec pre-apocalypse because his girlfriend Michonne had a brother in prison for assault in the first degree—a drunk guy had picked a fight with him on the street one night, and that guy was a white cop who took him to court once he sobered up. Anton said it was self-defense and he was telling the truth, but he was still charged with a Class A felony and he got the mandatory sentence for that: a minimum of fifteen years. When the world went to hell in a handbasket, Nate and Sophie had been working on a way to get a judge to grant him an appeal. Eliot was working undercover as a prison guard to keep an eye on him in the meantime. “Medusa,” she whispers so only the librarian can hear, “Anton is Andre’s other uncle. We can’t shoot him.”

Lucy frowns because Eliot neglected to mention that. Which doesn’t surprise her, since career criminals aren’t predisposed to sharing information or trusting people they met twenty minutes ago in a dark basement. It just bothers her that she doesn’t have all of the information on these men, because she hates not knowing things. “Anton,” she says, “you can stay. Your nephew’s with us.”

“Andre?” Anton says in a soft voice that shakes with disbelief.

Lucy smiles and softly hums her answer to his question as Alec emerges from the cell block, grinning at the thief moonlighting as a sniper without giving away her position before he brings a gobsmacked Anton into the cell block.

“What about the rest of us?” Andrew asks as the door shuts with a clank.

“C’mon,” Oscar says, “we’re free now. Let’s get out of here. I gotta go check on my old lady.”

“Man’s got a point,” Daryl mutters.

“Group of civilians breaking into a prison got me thinking there ain’t no place for us to go,” Tomas says.

“Why don’t you go find out?” Daryl says and sneers at him.

“Maybe we’ll just be going now,” Axel suggests.

“Hey,” Tomas says, “we ain’t leaving.”

T-Dog steps out of the breakroom with a pistol in his hand and Nico behind him with a pump-action shotgun. “You aren’t coming in, either,” he tells them sharply.

“Hey,” Tomas shouts, all puffed up like a turkey doing a threat display in the wild. “This is my house, my rules. I go where I damn well please.”

“I ain’t gonna tell ya’ again,” Daryl snarls. “This ain’t your house no more. It’s ours. There’s nothin’ for ya’ here.”

“How many of you are there?” Tomas asks as Rick emerges from C block to see what’s going on.

Rick looks to Lucy, who shrugs with one shoulder as she uncocks her revolvers and puts them back in their holsters. Which is a display of power in its own way, showing rather than telling the man with the gun that she won’t have to lift a finger to take him out if she doesn’t want to because she has people to pull the trigger for her. “Too many for you to handle,” he says.

“How long were you locked in that cafeteria?” Lucy wants to know.

“Going on like ten months,” Tomas says.

“Riot broke out,” Oscar adds. “Never seen anything like it.”

Axel nods so fast he almost discombobulates himself. “Attica on speed, man,” he says.

“Dudes were going cannibal,” Andrew says. “Dying, coming back to life. Crazy.”

“Spencer looked out for us,” Tomas says and flicks his gaze to the door to C block, “locked us in the cafeteria, told us to sit tight, and threw me this piece. When he came back, he locked himself in with us and told us there was no way out.”

“Yeah,” Oscar adds, “and that was two hundred and ninety-two days ago.”

 _Which explains the tally on the walls of the cafeteria_ , Lucy thinks, _because the clocks were broken and they had time to kill. Figuratively speaking_.

“Actually,” says Axel, “two hundred and ninety-four according to my calculations—”

“Shut up!” Tomas shouts and the scrawny man flinches before he breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor.

“You never tried to break out?” Nico asks.

“We tried to take the doors off,” Oscar tells her, “but if you made a peep, those freaks’d be lined up outside the door growling and trying to get in. We’re lucky the windows have bars that He-Man couldn’t get through.”

“Spencer tried to leave a few days ago,” Tomas says. “We didn’t think he was coming back.”

“We were thinking the army or the National Guard should be showing up any day now,” Oscar adds.

“Nope,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound. “There’s no army, no government, no civilization. It’s all gone. Things fell apart, the center didn’t hold, mere anarchy was loosed upon the world, all that jazz.”

“What do you mean?” Tomas asks.

“For real?” Axel blurts out at the same time.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound once more with feeling, “I’m dead serious.”

“What about my kids?” Oscar asks, “and my old lady? You got a cell phone or something that we can use to call our families?”

Daryl snorts. “You just don’t get it,” he mutters.

“There are no phone lines,” Lucy clarifies, “the cell networks went down nine months ago when the power grid failed. Internet crashed a few weeks later. Approximately 99.99% of the human population on the planet has been wiped out, if not more.”

Tomas shakes his head and narrows his eyes at her. “There ain’t no way,” he retorts with an edge of skepticism in his voice.

“See for yourself,” Rick says gravely.


	6. Victim of Changes

**Why take more than we need? Because we can.**  
**Deep footprint, it leaves a hole. You’d break your**  
**heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull**  
**when the mind swells? A thought bigger than your**  
**own head. Try it. Seriously. Cover more ground.**  
**I thought of myself as a city and I licked my lips.**  
**I thought of myself as a nation and I wrung my hands,**  
**I put a thing in your hand. Will you defend yourself?**  
**From me, I mean. Let’s kill something.**

Richard Siken, “Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 6**  
Victim of Changes

* * *

_Saturday, 9 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 301._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

It’s late in the golden afternoon by the time the inmates emerge from the prison and walk out into the courtyard. Lucy shuffles behind the four convicts with Daryl, Nico, T-Dog, and Rick backing her up; Daryl with his crossbow loaded and locked on Tomas, Nico holding her shotgun at the ready, T-Dog with his Glock 19 and wearing the body armor he’s had since the fall of Atlanta, and Rick carrying a longer machete than the one she wields.

“Damn,” Oscar murmurs and tilts back his head to bask in the natural light and feast his eyes on the cloudless sky, “the sun feels good.”

“Never thought I’d be so happy to see these fences,” Tomas says.

“You never said,” Andrew says and turns to glower at Lucy before he looks past her to glare at the people standing with her. “How the hell did you get in here in the first place?”

Daryl adjusts his grip on his crossbow with one hand while he moves closer to Lucy and puts his other arm loosely around her waist, marking his territory and giving himself a way to get her out of the line of fire in a hurry. “We came in through the front gate,” he says gruffly.

Andrew seems to only have eyes for Tomas, and he slants his gaze to the other man before he speaks again. “That easy, huh?” he asks.

Daryl shrugs. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he drawls.

“Yeah,” Andrew retorts, “easy for you to say.”

Oscar eyes the straggling zombies shambling around the fence. “What is this,” he asks, “a disease or something?”

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound. “It’s a virus. There are two strains that we know of: the airborne strain that ostensibly caused the riot ten months ago that you mentioned, and the waterborne strain. Almost everyone who survived the global outbreak of the airborne virus is infected with the latent waterborne virus.”

Axel frowns. “What do you mean, infected?” he asks, “like AIDS or something?”

“No,” Lucy informs him. “HIV is a retroviral infection that causes an immunodeficiency in those infected. It destroys your CD4 T-cells and causes your immune system to fail. It annihilates you by depleting your immune system until it can no longer respond to infection. HZV, the human zombification virus, is a riboviral infection that causes a fatal immunoresponse. It doesn’t bother with depleting your immune system. It just uses your immunoresponse to kill you.”

Daryl squeezes the soft curve of her waist as he stifles a laugh at the looks of confusion they all give her because she infodumped at the speed of light and nobody can keep up with his girl when she does that. “It don’t matter if you’re infected with the live virus,” he says, “if I was t’ kill you, shoot a bolt in your chest, you’d still come back as one of those things. It’s gonna happen t’ all of us.”

Which is a bald-faced lie since half a dozen of their people are immune, but these guys don’t need to know that.

Tomas eyes the congealed blood splattered on the cement, the conspicuous absence of corpses in the courtyard. “Ain’t no way this Robin Hood cat is responsible for killing all those zombies,” he says.

Andrew nods. “There were hundreds of them out here,” he adds.

Tomas abruptly turns to look at them instead of staring out through the fence. “Where’d you come from?” he wants to know.

Rick swallows thickly around the lump that forms in his throat at the question. “Atlanta,” he says.

Tomas glances at Andrew while he walks back across the courtyard. “Where’re you headed?” he asks.

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Daryl snarls at him.

Tomas narrows his eyes at the bowhunter and squares his shoulders to unconsciously make himself look tougher. “I guess you can take the area down near the water,” he says, “should be comfortable.”

“We’re using all of the fields for crops,” Lucy informs him.

Tomas shakes his head. “We’ll help you move your gear out, gringa,” he says. Almost like he didn’t hear her.

Rick clenches his jaw around a frustrated noise. Lori is safe behind these fences, and no matter how broken their marriage is right now he isn’t going to let anyone or anything put her or their unborn child at risk. “That won’t be necessary,” he says. “We took out these zombies. This prison is ours.”

Tomas scoffs. “Slow down, cowboy,” he says.

“You snatched the locks off our doors,” Andrew snaps.

Tomas nods. “This is our prison,” he adds. “We were here first.”

“You were hiding in a cafeteria full of waste and vermin,” Lucy points out, “and I’m not just talking about the rats. We let you out. Nothing is stopping us from locking you up again.”

Tomas shakes his head again. “I ain’t going back in that cafeteria for one more minute,” he retorts and draws the hammerless revolver he tucked into the front of his pants. “We’re moving back into our old cell block.”

“Hey!” Axel yelps as Nico pumps her shotgun. “Let’s try to make this work out so everybody wins—”

“I don’t see that happening,” Tomas says flatly.

“There are other cell blocks,” Axel mumbles.

Daryl adjusts his crossbow to aim a bolt at his throat. “You could leave,” he growls, “try your luck out on the road.”

Tomas slants his gaze to Andrew and puts the hammerless revolver back in the front of his pants before he shrugs. “If these pussies can do all this,” he says, “we can take out another cell block.”

Andrew scrunches his face up into a scowl. “How are we supposed to take out a cell block full of zombies with one bullet?” he asks.

Tomas shrugs again with forced, artificial nonchalance. “Atlanta here will spot us some weapons,” he says in that slick oily voice, “won’t you, boss?”

Daryl snorts. “Rick ain’t the boss,” he drawls.

“I’m the boss,” Lucy informs him. “Let me make one thing abundantly clear. I’ll give you guys a chance to help us clear the zombies out of the women’s side of the prison since we haven’t gotten to that yet because our efforts were derailed by finding you in the cafeteria, but if you do anything to make me regret putting that gun back in your hands you’ll be dead before you have a chance to pull the trigger. ¿Comprendéis?”

Tomas shifts his focus to her and his dark-eyed stare is full of poorly concealed malevolence that she doesn’t like. “Sí,” he tells her. “Claro.”

“Good.” Lucy smiles at him in a way that doesn’t show her teeth. It makes her cheeks ache because she finally remembers why he and Andrew look so familiar to her, why she has such a bad feeling about them. “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

“Who here knows anything about the Scarborough rapist?” Lucy asks as soon as they regroup back in C block with T-Dog, Nico, and Daryl watching the four inmates out in the courtyard and listening in over the radio.

“Paul Bernardo,” Eliot says, “scum of the earth.”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Paul Bernardo raped thirteen known victims in between 1987 and 1992, attempted to rape at least six other victims whom he brutally stabbed, and murdered four girls the police knew about,” she elaborates, “he liked them young: the oldest girl he sexually assaulted was twenty-two, the youngest was fourteen. Karla Homolka—his wife—helped him drug, rape, and kill three young girls in between 1990 and 1991, including her younger sister Tammy.”

Carol flicks her gaze to Sophia, who looks horrified but isn’t crying or trying to cover her ears the way she would have before she almost died in the woods. “Why in the world are we talking about this?” she wants to know.

Lucy adjusts her glasses and shifts her weight onto her cane. “I bring this up because a similar case happened in Palmetto eight years ago,” she clarifies. “Tomas Ricardo Gomez was convicted of raping two college girls that his boyfriend Andrew Moore drugged using GHB, and they got caught because one of their victims overdosed and died. I can’t believe it took me until now to remember them, because I was paying attention to their case in 2003 when the trial was going on. I think I blocked it out because I’m pansexual and the coverage of the trial was homophobic and racist as hell, like people conveniently forgot that a straight white couple did a lot worse so they could kill two birds with one stone by demonizing people of color and LGBT people.”

“Shit,” Rick says, “I remember that. It wasn’t our case, but…” he glances at Lori and swallows thickly, “…Shane and I talked about how messed up the whole thing was. I thought they looked familiar. I should’ve recognized them.”

“Michonne was one of the prosecutors,” Anton murmurs. “It was the first big case she won. Eliot was here to protect me from guys like Tomas and Andrew that she put behind bars. I got everyone to start calling me Big Tiny so they wouldn’t figure out who I was from my name.”

“We can’t let them live here,” Jacqui says matter-of-factly. “I don’t know about the other prisoners, but rapists aren’t welcome in our house.”

There’s a smattering of nods and murmurs from everyone in the cell block. Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek as she looks at the people who put her in charge of protecting them, of making the rules they choose to follow, of keeping them safe from people like Tomas and Andrew.

Alec looks at the hitter, who spent ten months in a room with two monsters. When he looks at Parker, he can tell they’re both thinking the same thing. It must’ve been hard for Eliot to keep them alive instead of letting them die of dehydration three days in, or just breaking their necks. Eliot might think of himself as damned for everything he’s done, but he knows the difference between people who do the wrong thing with the best intentions and people who hurt others just because they can.

“Tomas has a plan to kill us and take back the prison,” Lucy murmurs, “he wants to get weapons from us—he’s hoping for more guns—and use the zombies in the rest of the prison to take us out. It helps that he doesn’t know Daryl and Rick are immune. We can use his lack of knowledge against him.”

“You wanna run a con on him,” Eliot deduces.

“I guess so,” Lucy says, “if you call manipulating someone into thinking they’re in control when they’re totally outsmarted and outgunned a con.”

Parker snorts. “Yeah,” she says, “manipulating your mark into thinking you need their help or they’re one step ahead of you even though you’re actually in control is pretty much every con ever.”

“Okay,” Lucy says and ekes the _oh_ sound out into an _ooh_ , “then I guess I’m running a con. Only I’m tricking a rapist into giving me a way to kill him instead of giving me all of his money.”

“Have you ever killed anyone before?” Eliot asks.

“One time Lucy shot my rapist in the neck,” Gilda informs him. “It was awesome.”

Lucy snorts at the _Mean Girls_ reference in spite of herself, a rueful huff of laughter that flattens the fizz of her anxiety at the back of her mind. “Tomas has a plan,” she says, “but mine is better.”

* * *

After he goes to check on Lori and breaks the silence that has festered in between them to tell her what the hell is going on, Rick finds enough blunt weapons to arm the four inmates: a metal bat, a crowbar, a metal pipe, and a hatchet they’re not going to bury anytime soon.

 _Step one_ , Lucy thinks, _don’t give them guns_.

Tomas frowns and picks up the crowbar with a dubious expression. “Why do I need this,” he asks before he draws the hammerless revolver again with his other hand, “when I’ve got this?”

“You don’t fire guns,” Daryl says gruffly, “not unless your back’s up against a wall. Noise attracts the zombies, really riles ’em up.”

Lucy yawns as she puts her goggles back on over her glasses. “We’re going down the hallway from the main building into D block in pairs,” she says. “Daryl and I are taking point.”

“I’ll bring up the rear with you,” Rick says and points his machete at Andrew. “Stay tight and hold formation no matter how close the zombies get. Anyone who runs off could get mistaken for part of the horde, end up with an axe in the head.”

“That’s where ya’ aim,” Daryl adds, “zombies only go down with a headshot.”

“Ain’t gotta tell us how to take out a man,” Tomas retorts with a threatening edge of condescension in his voice.”

“They ain’t men,” T-Dog tells him. “They’re something else.”

 _Step two_ , Lucy thinks as she hobbles down the hallway from C block into the main building, _turn your back on them so they assume you’ve underestimated how much of a threat they are_.

“You gotta listen up,” Daryl says, “zombies can’t talk no more, but they can still make noise t’ communicate. You’re gonna hear ’em before we see ’em.”

Sure enough, the zombified inmates that shambled up into the main building from where they had been trapped in the basement moan and yowl before they shuffle around the corner.

“They’re coming!” Axel shouts.

Daryl hushes him before the prisoners break rank and charge at the shambling horde, beating and kicking the crap out of them in a riotous way that’s not only a waste of energy but also totally ineffectual against the undead. Lucy squeaks into the palm of one hand as she tries and fails to muffle her laughter. There’s no way these men haven’t seen at least one zombie movie, but it looks like the reality of the zombie apocalypse hasn’t sunk in for them. Yet.

“It’s gotta be the brain,” Daryl growls as the inmates fall back into formation behind him, “not the stomach, not the heart—” he pauses to put a bolt through the eye of a straggler before it can get close enough to smell the immunity on him, “—the brain.”

“I hear you,” Axel wheezes, “the brain.”

Oscar stays in formation and splits the skull of a zombie with the hatchet. “Like that?” he asks.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound as she shifts her weight onto her cane and moves to skewer another zombie through its open mouth, “exactly.”

“Stay in tight formation,” Rick snaps and stabs another zombie in the face with his blade, “no more prison riot crap.”

Things go from bad to worse the moment a zombie with handcuffs around one wrist and a gory stump of rotten flesh and bone where its other hand should be scratches Andrew, its brittle and broken ulna still enough to cut into his back and tear his skin to shreds. After he fires his only bullet at the zombie and it grazes its shoulder even though he was aiming between its eyes, Tomas drops the gun and stares at him in horror.

“It’s just a scratch,” Andrew says as blood spurts out of the wound. “I don’t feel anything.”

Rick shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry,” he says. Almost like he means it.

“I know you did something to help Spencer,” Andrew says, “you can do the same for me. I’m not changing into one of those things!”

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek as she glances at Daryl, who holds her gaze but doesn’t say anything because he knows this is the first time she’s ever truly felt no need to help someone. Which is one of the worst feelings in the world, hollow and empty and heartless.

“Why’re you just standing around?” Andrew shrills. “Help me! Please—”

Only he doesn’t get a chance to finish begging them to save his life, because Tomas bashes his head in with the crowbar in his hands and he doesn’t stop until the other man is a mess of gray matter and blood oozing all over the floor.


	7. Heavy Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : There is porn at the very end of this chapter, specifically Lucy blowing Daryl in the shower and a lot of schmoop in the aftermath of approximately 2,300 words of plot. **Beware**.
> 
>  **Additional Tags** : Kissing, Neck Kissing, Biting, Foreplay, Blow Jobs, Foreskin Play, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Deepthroating, Come Swallowing.

**I am missing you something fierce in these**  
**greenfields and oil fields and fields of scary love I do not like.**  
**Such a long way from this little while together. With you,**  
**it is a presence or absence of claws—your hands that might**  
**injure. Desire holds me like a knife.**

Emily Corwin, “Abacus”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 7**  
Heavy Duty

* * *

_Saturday, 9 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 301._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

_I have a plan_ , Lucy thinks as her stomach churns and bile rises saliferous and thick in her throat. _Step three:_ _wait for them to escalate the situation. I just didn’t plan for things to escalate to the point that one of them killed the other in cold blood_.

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils and holds formation as T-Dog moves to open the door in front of them. “You don’t gotta be the one who does it,” he tells her so quietly that no one else can hear. “Just gimme a signal.”

Lucy bites her lip and shakes her head as they walk into the laundry room. There are sheets and pillowcases scattered around the room that were pristine white once but have since gone to waste, the stench of the mildew and mold that grew in the past ten months stagnating in the stale air. _Step four_ , she thinks, _shoot them in the face if and when the situation calls for it_.

Daryl shrugs and grips his crossbow with one hand while he throws his keys to Tomas, the clank of the metal against the linoleum enough to make the zombies on the other side of the doors yowl.

“I ain’t opening that,” Tomas says flatly.

“Yes,” Rick tells him, “you are. If you want this cell block, you’re gonna open that door.”

“Just one,” Lucy says, “not both of them. We need to control the horde so those of you that aren’t immune don’t get infected.”

Tomas snatches the keys off the floor and glares at Rick before he starts testing them to find the one that opens these doors. When one turns, the lock clicks and he smiles through the blood all over his face. “You bitches ready?” he says and frowns because one pull doesn’t open the door. “I got this,” he mutters and yanks on the handle so hard that both of the heavy doors spill open.

“We said one door!” Rick shouts at him as the zombies that had piled up against the door swarm into the laundry room.

“Shit happens!” Tomas shouts back and swings the crowbar to bash in the head of a zombie.

 _Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal_ , Lucy thinks and spins her machete to build momentum before she stabs another zombie because some of them are fresher than others and those are harder to kill.

When one of the zombies gets close enough to the former sheriff to smell the immunity on him, Tomas doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy taking a swing that slices through the air too close to his head and shoving one of the undead stragglers at Rick so hard he topples onto the floor. Daryl hunches to stab the zombie with his hunting knife and haul Rick back up onto his feet while Lucy, T-Dog, Oscar, Axel, and Tomas mow down the rest of the horde.

Tomas is huffing and puffing like a mangy wolf in front of a house made of straw. “It was coming at me,” he mutters as he shrugs and shifts from one foot to the other.

“Yeah,” Rick says gravely. “Yeah, I get it. Shit happens.”

What happens next is another contingency Lucy didn’t plan for: Rick smiles at Tomas with a grim slant to his mouth before he sets his jaw and brings his machete down on his head to crack his skull open and kicks his corpse to uncleave the blade from his cranium in the aftermath.

“Hey,” Daryl snarls at Oscar as the lanky prisoner gapes at Tomas’ brains and blood oozing out onto the linoleum, “get down on your knees.”

Axel drops to his knees and looks down at the floor as T-Dog points the Glock 19 in his hands at his head. “We don’t have no affiliation with what just happened!” he yelps, his voice pitching higher in distress, “tell ’em, Oscar!”

Oscar puts the hatchet on the floor and holds up his hands in surrender while he kneels. “Stop talking, man,” he says.

Lucy hunches to wipe the blood on the blade of her machete off using one of the cleaner sheets and slips it back in its sheath with a soft metallic sound. “Tomas was planning to kill us,” she murmurs, “that’s why he asked for weapons.”

“We didn’t have nothing to do with that,” Oscar says as the former sheriff takes his Colt out of its holster and clicks the safety off.

“You didn’t know?” Rick snaps at him with the skepticism in his voice cocked as tight as the .357 Magnum in his hand. “You knew. Lucy, Daryl, let’s just end this now.”

“Sir,” Axel blubbers, “ma’am, please, listen to me! It was them that was bad, not us.”

“Oh,” Rick scoffs, “that’s convenient.”

“Sir, please,” Axel says, “you saw what he did to Andrew. We ain’t like that. I like my pharmaceuticals, but I’m no killer. Oscar here, he’s a B and E, and he ain’t very good at it neither. We ain’t the violent kind, they were! Just…” he whimpers at the sight of Daryl with his hunting knife to Oscar’s throat, “…please, I swear to God! I wanna live!”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly as she looks at Oscar. “What about you?” she wants to know.

“I ain’t never pleaded for my life,” Oscar says, “and I ain’t about to start now, so you do what you gotta do.”

Lucy slants her gaze to Daryl, who backs off at the blunt tilt of her chin and puts his knife back in its sheath. “No more killing today,” she orders. “Daryl, Rick, T-Dog, help these men clear out D block and then lock them in. I won’t seal their fate until we have all of the information, and we’re not going to make it out to Forsyth today.”

Rick clenches his jaw and nods before he grabs Axel by the back of his prison jumpsuit and drags him down the hallway.

Oscar hunches in a futile attempt to make himself seem less tall and keeps his hands up as he rises to his feet. “What’s in Forsyth?” he asks quietly.

“Department of Corrections,” Daryl says gruffly. “Apparently that’s where they kept hard copies of criminal records and shit. If all ya’ did t’ get locked up was breakin’ and enterin’, we ain’t gonna condemn ya’ for that.”

“But?” Oscar says as T-Dog aims his Glock at his back and they walk down the hallway to D block.

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. “But we don’t know you,” he says, “and we don’t wanna make a habit of trustin’ strangers who ain’t got no one t’ vouch for ’em.”

When he unlocks the door, the only corpses in D block have been dead since the riot. It looks like the guards took the female inmates out of their cells during the riot, zip-tied their hands behind their backs, and put bullets in their heads to prevent the spread of the infection. Not that it did them any good in the end.

Daryl swallows hard. It’s better if Lucy doesn’t have to see this, all of these dead women left to rot facedown on a concrete floor in a ghoulish parody of powerlessness. “Let’s go,” he says to Rick and T-Dog, “ain’t nothin’ more for us t’ do today.”

“So you’re just gonna leave us in here?” Oscar asks. “Man, this is sick.”

“Lucy wants us to lock down the cell blocks,” Rick tells him, “this one is yours for now. You can take it or leave it.”

“You think this is sick?” Daryl shakes his head as Rick walks back out into the hallway. “You don’t wanna know what’s outside.”

T-Dog nods as the archer locks the door behind them. “You should consider yourselves the lucky ones,” he says.

* * *

Lucy hobbles back through the main building to C block and drags a chair in from the breakroom that she flops into unceremoniously. Glenn is still over in B block with Nico, Kate, Gert, Gilda, Amy, Maggie, and Beth organizing the supplies from the rigs. Lori is still on bedrest with Hershel and Carol monitoring her because she could go into labor at any time. After she takes her goggles off, Lucy waits for everyone to regroup in C block as she tries to make herself go numb to all of the terrible things and thoughts in her head.

“What happened?” Kate asks.

Nico folds her arms tight across her chest and narrows her eyes at her friend. “Lucy, are you okay?” she wants to know, “you look the way you always do before you throw up.”

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips. “Tomas and Andrew are dead,” she mumbles. “Andrew was bitten and Tomas bashed his head in with a crowbar. It threw off my groove, seeing that. Andrew was seventeen in 2003 and he was in a predatory relationship with a forty-year-old man at the time of his conviction. I don’t think he should’ve been tried as a minor, but whoever put him and Tomas in the same prison was an idiot.”

Alec shakes his head. “Tomas was at Georgia State Prison down in Reidsville until a year ago,” he says, “he was transferred here about a month before the zombie virus went global. Which is why Mike called me and my crew to get Anton out.”

“I killed him,” Rick says grimly, “he took a swing at me and tried to push a zombie on me while the others were busy with the horde. Which leaves us with two inmates that we know nothing about.”

Lucy slumps in her seat and hunches her shoulders in a doomed attempt to decompress. “There are two men in D block with no one to vouch for them,” she clarifies, “and we have no idea what they did pre-apocalypse to get thrown in federal prison. Daryl and I are going to make a run to the Department of Corrections out in Forsyth tomorrow to find copies of their criminal records. When we have all of the relevant information, we can make a final decision about how we’re going to deal with them. Until then, we’re going to supply them with food leftover from the cafeteria and water from the creek because the only other option would be giving them the keys to the gates so they can scavenge their own supplies and I don’t think we should do that. What do you think?”

Glenn shrugs. “If we’ve learned anything from having Alec and Parker in our group,” he says, “it’s that being a criminal doesn’t automatically make you a bad person.”

Maggie nods. “Yeah,” she says, “as long as they’re not serial killers or rapists or child molesters or something, we should at least talk about letting them stay here.”

Daryl unfolds a piece of paper he tore out of the listography notebook Lucy always has in her pocket. “I made y’all a list of construction equipment we need t’ start building our wall,” he says. “I want Glenn t’ put together a smaller group, take the flatbeds, and scavenge a rental lot while we’re gone.”

“I can do that,” Glenn says.

“What about the rest of us?” Morgan asks as he props his rifle against the wall.

“I want the rest of you on cleaning duty,” Lucy says. “There’s more bleach in the laundry room, and we can pick up some baking soda for cleaning the mattresses in Forsyth. I also probably won’t be able to walk for a few days because of everything we’ve been doing, so I’m going to trust all of you to get stuff done if I wake up tomorrow and I can’t move.”

Carol nods. “Hershel and I talked about this,” she murmurs, “and we know you well enough by now to know you’re going to push yourself no matter what we say, so I’m just going to say this: we have other people that can go out to gather supplies and information.”

“What we don’t have is another person who thinks like you do,” Hershel says, “we don’t need you on the front line, we need you setting up a lab so you can use that brilliant mind of yours to cure the zombie virus once and for all.”

Lucy glances at the bowhunter standing beside her chair and smiles at him shyly because technically she cured him with the power of love, by way of science. “Okay,” she yawns into the hollow of her palm and ekes the _oh_ sound out into a soft _ooh_ , “we start building a wall in between the outer fences tomorrow and then we set up a lab so I can synthesize a vaccine and cure the most infectious disease of all time, but right now we can’t do any of that so Daryl and I are going to take a shower before dinner. Don’t come looking for us unless you have an emergency.”

Daryl unlocks the door to C block for her and holds it open before he turns to point at them in mock warning. “Don’t have a fuckin’ emergency,” he drawls on his way out.

* * *

After she gets in the shower, Lucy stands under the water and groans out loud for about five minutes as the heat seeps into her body and steam floats up around her while she lathers a glob of shampoo into her hair one-handed and uses her other arm to brace herself from ineffectual fist to elbow against the shower wall. Daryl wordlessly starts working the kinks and knots of stress out of her shoulders and back as soon as she rinses the shampoo out of her hair and puts conditioner in, his fingertips applying the perfect amount of pressure. Lucy moans softly and shuts her eyes at the sensation, the slickness of the water glossing over her skin in between her and his calloused hands. “I bet he would’ve said he did it for love,” she says as Daryl kisses the words tattooed on the curve of her shoulder and digs his thumbs into the muscles on top of her shoulder blades so hard she arches her back and bites her bottom lip to muffle another sound of pleasure.

“Who,” Daryl says gruffly with his lips so close to the skin of her shoulder that his beard scrapes teasingly over the crook of her neck, “Andrew?”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “you know once upon a time I didn’t care how much the people I loved hurt me? I always thought as long as they loved me back it would be worth any amount of pain. I’m not saying I would’ve helped any of the people I’ve loved if they wanted to rape anyone, but I know how it feels to be in a relationship where you lose yourself in another person until you don’t know who you are anymore. When I talk about true love…” she turns in his arms so her back is against the wall and squints at his face because she left her glasses in the basket with the clothes she plans to change into for dinner and she’s pretty much blind without them, “…I don’t mean something out of a fairytale. I mean the kind of love that makes you feel better, not worse.”

Daryl puts one hand on her face and kisses her so tenderly it makes her heart ache in her chest. “I love you too,” he drawls low and thick before he tugs her bottom lip between his teeth and sucks gently while he squeezes her ass with his other hand.

Lucy hooks one of her legs around his waist and wraps her arms tight around his neck, tangling her fingers into his hair. Daryl nuzzles the hollow of her throat and nips at her collarbone, holding her flush against him as the water runs hot down his back and he inhales deeply through his nose—he’s so close he can taste the tang of her sweat and feel the pulp of her heart beating under his tongue while he sinks his teeth into her neck where her pulse is thumping wildly.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Daryl growls as he ruts against her and his dick twitches in between her thighs, “we gotta do it fast.”

Lucy kisses the hinge of his jaw and moves to lick and suck on the divot behind one of his ears. “There’s only so much hot water,” she murmurs as she smooths one soft hand over his back and feel the muscles flex under his skin, “we shouldn’t waste it.”

Daryl swallows hard because she doesn’t linger on his scars or the demons inked on his skin, but she doesn’t shy away from them either; they’re just another part of him for her to get her hands on. Lucy kisses down the curve of his neck to his clavicle and nuzzles the sparse hair on his chest before she bites one of his flat nipples to make him moan. Daryl watches her as she kisses his sternum and shudders at the scrape of her teeth against his stomach, his muscles going taut in anticipation as she wraps one hand around his dick and strokes him up and down from base to head. Lucy kisses the head of his cock where it peeks out from his foreskin and swirls her tongue around slowly as she peels his foreskin back. Daryl puts one hand against the wall to brace himself and fists the other in her hair as she wraps her pretty mouth around his dick and takes him until his blunt tip hits the back of her throat.

Lucy fondles his balls with one hand while she takes him deeper into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks out and sucking on him while she controls her gag reflex. It makes her stomach roil, but the litany of guttural sounds he makes that bloom raw and primal in his chest and claw out from under his tongue while she deepthroats him are worth the kneejerk of nausea. When he comes, Daryl grunts and tugs on her hair just hard enough to make her moan around his girth as she moves her mouth up his shaft to give herself room to swallow without choking on thick spurts of his spunk.

“Aw, _shit_ ,” Daryl hisses vehemently and drags her to her feet by the hair before he kisses her hard and desperate and with teeth. “After dinner, you’re gonna let me fuck ya’ six ways t’ Sunday,” he grits out. “Ain’t that right?”

Lucy blushes from the tops of her ears to the undersides of her breasts and nods, succinctly. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound.

“That’s my girl,” Daryl says hoarsely before he kisses her again, slow and sweet. Almost like it’s not the end of the world, because they’ve found somewhere to begin.


	8. Exiled

**No one really leaves**  
**but they’re always missed,**  
**anyway.**

Caitlyn Siehl, “Honey”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 8**  
Exiled

* * *

_Monday, 11 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 303._  
_Senoia, GA;_  
_Sportsman’s Deer Cooler._

* * *

Cath doesn’t celebrate her twenty-eighth birthday on the seventh of April. Not that surviving to see her next birthday in the post-apocalyptic wasteland isn’t something to celebrate, but it’s hard to stay positive when one of the people who spent the last eight months watching her back and covering her badonkadonk is dying.

After they grabbed the bag of guns and fled the farm, a taciturn dark-skinned black woman named Michonne found them in the forest and saved Andrea from a few shambling zombies with a swing of her katana. Cath tried to get through to Lucy or Kate or Nico on the radio for hours before she turned her earpiece off to save the battery. Michonne prefers to walk rather than drive, using two zombies she mutilated as camouflage to carry her stuff and move unseen through the hordes of the undead.

Now it’s eight months later. Cath became a third wheel somewhere in those eight months because Andrea has something going on with Michonne that looks a lot like falling in love at the end of the world, a love they both refuse to speak of because they both lost everything and saying it out loud could mean losing what they have.

Andrea came down with an infection that isn’t zombie-related a week ago, and Michonne has been going from place to place for miles to find her some medicine. Unfortunately, most of the places in Senoia were picked clean. Cath hopes that means her friends are still out there somewhere, hoarding as many supplies as they can find.

Michonne returns from her walk and leaves her zombies in chains outside the meat locker where they’ve spent the past two weeks. Andrea isn’t where she left her on the lumpy mattress they salvaged from a shitty apartment complex nearby; she’s laying on the floor basking in the sunshine, looking like death warmed over while she tries and fails to photosynthesize. “What is she doing out here?” Michonne snaps, directing her accusatory question to Cath, who doesn’t miss the unspoken _You were supposed to keep an eye on her while I was gone_.

“I needed some light,” Andrea tells her shakily.

Michonne crouches down beside her to give her the aspirin she found. “Take it,” she says.

“What’s it like out there?” Cath asks.

“Same,” Michonne answers as she presses a bottle of ice water against Andrea’s fevered brow and slowly moves it over the curve of her pallid cheek. “Quiet.”

“You’re lying,” Andrea rasps.

Michonne puts the bottle of water back in her messenger bag. “We should go soon,” she murmurs, “in a few days.”

“You should go now,” Andrea whispers. “I’ll hold you back.”

“No,” Michonne tells her sharply and shakes her head.

“No way,” Cath says at the same time.

“Go,” Andrea says in spite of their objections, “I can take care of myself. I saved your asses all winter, didn’t I? I won’t have you dying for me, either of you.”

Michonne shakes her head with slow vehemence as the hint of a smile on her face withers. “We’ll go in a few days,” she murmurs as she rubs Andrea’s back and forces her to drink some water as soon as she stops coughing.

Andrea swallows hard. “Michonne,” she whispers, “if we stay, I’ll die here.”

“I boosted a truck,” Cath informs them. “Gert taught me how to do it back at the farm. Michonne, you can put your revenants in the back. We can find a pharmacy that hasn’t been cleared out, get Andrea something a little stronger than aspirin.”

Michonne nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “Let’s go,” she says.

* * *

_Monday, 11 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 303._  
_Senoia, GA;_  
_3481 GA-85._

* * *

Cath drives up the interstate and passes by Fairburn Road, just in case the group reclaimed the farm after the horde passed through. It’s almost peaceful on the highway, until a helicopter crashes in the acreage of farmland across the road and a black fume of smoke unfurls in the sky. Andrea gets out of the truck and starts walking toward the wreckage in spite of the sheen of sweat on her face. Michonne flicks her gaze to Cath, who sighs as they catch up with the feverish blonde and the revenants shamble behind them.

Andrea stops to toss her cookies the dirt as they get close to the crash site. Michonne rubs her back and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t push yourself,” she murmurs, “you’d better sit.”

Cath draws the gun she carries at the small of her back. “We’ll check it out,” she adds, “you just stay here and try not to die.”

Michonne chains her revenants to the trunk of a tree by the bush Andrea hunkers down behind, the blanket that hangs over her shoulders a bare minimum of camouflage. Cath walks around the helicopter in a slow circle and finds a black man in army fatigues chopped in half by one of the blades. Michonne keeps one hand on her katana while she peers inside the helicopter and goes still at the sight and sound of a car on a backroad. “Someone’s coming,” she hisses once they’re back in the bushes with Andrea.

“Any survivors?” Andrea wants to know.

“Two dead,” Michonne tells her. “Not sure about the other.”

When the men emerge from their cars, brushfires are burning in the dry leaves on the ground. One is Asian, with a makeshift suppressor on the muzzle of his Walther P38 9mm pistol that makes it look almost like a toy instead of a weapon. One is black, with a recurve bow in his hands and a quiver full of mismatched arrows on his back. One is Hispanic, and he bashes the heads of two zombies in with a baseball bat. One is white and scrawny, wearing a pair of goggles over his eyes and carrying a Colt M4A1 Carbine assault rifle.

Their leader is also white, tall and dressed in a vest on top of a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dress slacks. Cath narrows her eyes at him as the revenants start to rattle the chains because they’ve been starving for months and they smell food. Michonne starts to draw her katana from its sheath as a straggler approaches them, but Andrea stops her. Shumpert, the bowman, sees the zombie and shoots an arrow through one of its eyes. Tim, the Asian man, helps the leader pull the pilot out of the wreckage.

“We should show ourselves,” Andrew whispers.

Michonne shakes her head. “Not yet,” she whispers back sharply.

After the soldier that was chopped in half and disemboweled by the blades reanimates, the leader stabs him in the head. Michonne decapitates her revenants because something is riling them up, but it’s too late. When she hears someone coming up behind her, she tries to draw her sword and hears the click of a hammer cocking.

Cath drops her pistol in the dirt as she turns to look at whoever has them at gunpoint and stares at him, wide-eyed. _No freaking way_ , she thinks.

“Easy does it, girl,” he drawls, “mine’s a whole lot bigger ’n yours. Now,” he says as Michonne lowers her katana, “put down your weapons. That’s it. Lemme see your hands.” Andrea holds up her hands in surrender as she turns to look at him over her shoulder. “Now spin around,” he says. “That’s it. Nice little twirl around.”

Cath glares at him as he leers at Andrea. _Goddammit_ , she thinks, _of all the people who could’ve found us, why did it have to be him?_

“Holy shit,” he says. “Blondie! Damn, lookin’ good. Now,” he pauses to stab a zombie with the blade attached to the gauntlet that covers the stump of scar tissue where his right hand was and grins as he lets the rotting corpse hit the forest floor, “how’s about a big hug for your old pal Merle?”

* * *

_Monday, 11 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 303._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Andrea gapes at Merle and passes out instead of answering his question. Which is the only acceptable response to a guy like him, really. Cath giggles in spite of herself as she helps Michonne haul Andrea up because Merle sure as hell isn’t going to carry her. Martinez and Crowley blindfold them before they shove them in the backseat of separate cars. Cath tries to make herself as small as possible, sightless and squished in between two hostile men that she doesn’t know. After they arrive at whatever secret location necessitated the sensory deprivation, the goons drag her ass out of the car and they don’t take the blindfold off until they’re in room without much of a view.

When she opens her eyes, Cath blinks a few times to restore her equilibrium before she looks around. Michonne is sitting on a stool and glowering at Shumpert and Crowley. Andrea is still passed out, but she has a catheter in her forearm hooked up to an IV bag full of antipyretic medicine. There’s a middle-aged black woman dressed in hospital scrubs watching them warily, but underneath that caution is concern with a side of pity.

Andrea wakes up a few hours later and lets the doctor take her temperature again. “Why are we being held here?” she asks as the doctor looks at her thermometer, “we want to leave.”

“You’re not well enough,” Doctor Stevens tells her, “and it’s dark. You should at least stay the night here.”

“Where is here?” Cath wants to know. “Where are we?”

“That’s not for me to say,” Dr. Stevens hedges, “he’ll talk to you.”

“Who?” Michonne asks.

Merle interrupts by entering the room before the doctor has a chance to evade the question herself. “Go check on your other patient, Doc,” he tells her before he pulls up a chair in between them and stays on his feet as he glances from Andrea to Cath. “I bet ya’ was wonderin’ if I was real,” he says, “probably hopin’ I wasn’t. Well, here I am. I guess this old world gets a little smaller toward the end, huh? There ain’t so many of us left t’ share the air right?” he grins and sits in the chair with the back facing them and folds his arms on the edge of it. “I was near bled out when they found me,” he elaborates, “starvin’ and thinkin’ t’ myself that a bullet might make a good last meal. I could take myself a long nap. Wait for Daryl on the other side.”

“We haven’t seen your brother for a long time,” Cath says.

Merle nods. “That makes two of us,” he mutters.

“Daryl went back for you,” Andrea says gently, “him and Rick, but you were already gone.”

Merle snorts. “Well,” he drawls as he pulls the metal gauntlet off his arm to reveal the burn scars from cauterizing his stump, “not all of me.” Michonne looks at Andrea while she looks away. “Yeah,” he snickers and puts his gauntlet back on, “Rick, the prick that cuffed me t’ the rooftop.”

“Yeah,” Andrea retorts, “Rick tried. Daryl saw that.”

Merle hums ruefully. “Well,” he says, “he’s always been the sweet one, my baby brother.”

“Daryl wanted to keep looking,” Cath informs him, “but things happened and people died. Jim, Dale…”

“I’m sorry t’ hear it,” Merle says.

“There were more,” Andrea says gravely, “a lot more. We had to leave Atlanta. We wound up staying at a farm, and Daryl stepped up, became a valued member of the group.”

Merle frowns, his mouth twisting. “Now he’s dead,” he rasps.

Cath shakes her head slowly. “We don’t know,” she clarifies, “the farm was overrun by a horde. We ran and got separated from the rest of the group.”

Merle narrows his eyes at her. “How long ago?” he asks brusquely.

“Almost eight months,” Cath tells him.

Michonne nods and flicks her gaze out into the hallway, past the goons watching her every move.

“What do you want from us?” Andrea wants to know.

Merle exhales in a huff and stands up suddenly. “Damn,” he drawls more to Michonne than Andrea herself. “There she sits, four walls around her, roof over her head, medicine in her veins, and she wants to know what I want from her. I plucked y’all and your mute here outta the dirt, Blondie. Saved your asses. How about a thank you?”

“You had a gun on us,” Michonne says acerbically.

Merle smirks at her. “Ooh,” he says, “she speaks. Well, who ain’t had a gun on ’em in the past year, huh?” he asks before he raises his stump. “Show of hands, y’all. Anybody? Shumpert, Crowley, y’all had a gun on y’all?” he shakes his head. “Hell, I think I’d piss my pants if some stranger came wallkin’ up with his mitts in his pockets. That’d be the sumbitch you’d really wanna be scared of—”

“I’m sorry,” Andrea says, “thank you.”

Merle smirks wider. “Sure thing,” he tells her as the man who carried himself like the leader of this motley crew in the forest walks into the room.

“How are you feeling?” he asks in a deep voice that drips Southern charm. It sounds like artificial sweetener tastes, with the bitterness of aspartame.

Michonne steps in front of Andrea to get in his face. “We want our weapons,” she snaps at him.

“Sure,” he says and smiles at her disarmingly, “on your way out the front gates.”

Andrea rises to her feet. “Show us the way,” she says. “You’ve kept us locked in this room long enough.”

“You see any bars on the windows?” the leader asks and arches his eyebrows at her incredulously. “You’re being cared for.”

Cath rolls her eyes at him. There’s something oddly familiar about this man, something that she can’t quite articulate. It feels like she must’ve seen him before, she just doesn’t know where. “Yeah,” she says, “under guard.”

“Only to protect our people,” the leader retorts. “We don’t know you. Catherine, you’re not prisoners here,” he clarifies, “you’re guests, but if you want to leave, you’re free to do so tomorrow. We don’t open the gates past dusk. It draws too much attention, and Andrea, you especially need a solid night’s sleep. I think you and I both know you wouldn’t last a day out there in your condition.”

Cath frowns, the space between her eyebrows furrowing at the sound of her given name.

“I’ll have you brought over to my place in the morning,” the leader says and motions for them to follow him on his way out of the room and down a brightly lit hallway they hadn’t been able to see because they were blindfolded on their way in, “return your weapons. Give you extra ammo, food for the road, some meds, keys to a vehicle if you want one. Send you on your way. No hard feelings.”

Andrea gapes as Crowley opens the doors to reveal a street full of firelight. There are no cars parked outside the building made of weathered brick, nothing but shadows cast by the flickering torches billowing as the fire dances in the dark. It’s a town, a remnant of the world she thought had died ten months ago that makes her feel overwhelming nostalgic. Almost like coming home.

“Welcome to Woodbury,” the leader says, “come with me.”

 _It’s like Stepford_ , Cath thinks as they follow him to the edge of town, _or Pleasantville. There’s something wrong here_.

Michonne sneaks a glance at her, and it’s clear she feels the same way. Whatever this place is, it’s too good to be true. Andrea seems to think otherwise, though; she looks enchanted by the glow of torchlight and she can’t keep her eyes off the charismatic man in charge here. Which isn’t going to end well.

“Go relieve Pete at the back gate,” Merle says as he climbs up the ladder onto the wall so fast his footsteps clang over the rungs before another man climbs down to change the guard.

Andrea watches a boy with a recurve bow turn on a spotlight to illuminate the road on the other side of the gate. “You’re military?” she hazards a guess.

“Hardly,” the leader chuckles. “Couple of vets, but by and large we’re self-trained.”

Cath narrows her eyes at the assault rifles to match the M4A1 Crowley was carrying in the woods. “That’s heavy artillery they’re packing,” she points out.

“Some men arrive with guns,” the leader tells her smoothly, “but most of our weapons are scavenged over time.”

Andrea folds her arms tight across her chest like she’s trying to give herself a hug. “What about the other side of town?” she asks in a hush of incredulity, “the rest of the streets, they’re all guarded like this?” she shakes her head skeptically. “No, it can’t be.”

“Oh,” the leader says and gives her a slant of a smile, “it can and it is.”

Merle whistles to get their attention. “Got us a creeper, Gov’nor,” he says and turns to a man holding a M4A1 fitted with another makeshift suppressor. “May I?” he asks brusquely and grins as the other man hands the rifle over before he adds, “thank you.”

“Governor?” Andrea looks back at the leader as she stumbles closer to the gate, “they call you that?”

“Some nicknames stick whether you want them to or not,” the Governor says.

“Governor isn’t a nickname,” Cath says, “it’s a title. There’s a difference.”

Merle aims the rifle and fires a shot as Andrea peers out through a gap in between the doors of the gate. “Got ’em,” he says and shoots the other two zombies in the head, “he brought his buddies.” Then he turns around to look at them. “Clear,” he drawls with a hint of smugness.

“We’ll get them in the morning,” the Governor says. “We can’t leave them to rot. It creates an odor, makes people feel uneasy.”

Andrea looks back at the empty street and frowns. “What people?” she asks. “There’s nobody here. It’s a ghost town.”

“This way,” the Governor says instead of answering her question and they follow him across the street into another building where a bedroom with a portable shower unit in one corner and warm blankets piled high on top of a chest of drawers in a wooden hutch. “I think you’ll be more comfortable here,” he says. “It’s not the Four Seasons, but there’s a hot shower. Our water’s limited, so keep it short.”

Cath flicks her gaze to the spread on a folding table and she has to stop herself from grabbing a handful of blueberries.

“We’ve got food and fresh clothes. I hope this works,” the Governor says before he turns to Michonne. “I know you’d feel better with your sword,” he adds, “more secure, but you’re safe here.”

Cath moves to sit on the king-sized bed next to Andrea while Michonne glowers at the Governor over her shoulder and he scowls right back at her as best he can without shattering the illusion that he’s anything but a gentleman. “We appreciate it,” she tells him.

“What about the pilot?” Andrea asks, “will he make it?”

“Dr. Stevens is doing all she can,” the Governor says as he steps back out into the hallway. “Now, I know you’ve got a lot more questions,” he holds up his hands in another disarming gesture, “but I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you tomorrow. Until then, my man will be outside the door if you need anything else.”

Andrea watches him walking away while Cath looks at the man in the hallway and her world goes spinning off its axis. There’s no mistaking that beard, those careful hands, the look he gives her like she hangs the moon in the night sky. “Oh my God,” she gasps. “Toby?”

Michonne turns and narrows her eyes at the man in the hallway. “You know him?” she asks.

Cath nods and smiles in spite of the tears of joy stinging her eyes as Toby swoops into the room and shuts the door behind him before he scoops her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin because she belongs there. “You could say that,” she chokes out as she curls her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and snuggles as close to him as she can get with their clothes still on, “he’s my husband.”


	9. Before the Dawn

**I do not know**  
**what happens to a body when it stops,**  
**but tell me a story that did not begin with love.**

Aracelis Girmay, “Jacaranda”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 9**  
Before the Dawn

* * *

_Tuesday, 12 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 304._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

When the morning comes, the so-called Governor of Woodbury—hereafter referred to only as Philip to avoid falling into the trap of aggrandizing him with his title—finds himself in a lab where mad science is going on. “Milton,” he says to the bespectacled man examining the remains of the revenants Michonne beheaded the day before, “did you finish your homework?”

“Unfortunately,” Milton sighs, “the dog’s eating it already.”

“What the hell’d you call me?” Merle snarls at him.

“Hey,” Philip cuts in sharply to nip this in the bud, “where are we, back in the schoolyard? Well?” he says as he arches his eyebrows at the redneck, “do you wanna take his lunch money while you’re at it?”

Merle deflates like a balloon losing its helium. “Sorry, Gov’nor…” he mumbles.

Philip narrows his eyes and steps further into the laboratory as the one-handed man hunches to make himself look even smaller in a show of submission. “Maybe I’ve wasted my time with you,” he says. “Maybe you haven’t learned anything at all.”

“Merle was trying to smoke in here,” Milton clarifies.

Philip turns to give his oldest friend a look of disappointment that doesn’t land because Milton is too autistic to meet his eyes most of the time. “I expect better from you,” he says. “Keep poking the bear and you’re bound to get mauled,” he flicks his gaze to Merle before he adds, “remember that. Now tell me about the girls.”

“Blondie’s name is Andrea,” Merle informs him, “the doe-eyed brunette is Cath.”

“Wait,” Milton says as a scowl of confusion droops into the corners of his mouth, “you know them?”

“So they’re from that group in Atlanta,” Philip deduces.

Merle nods brusquely. “Yeah,” he says, “the same one that left me on the roof, forced me t’ mutilate myself.”

“So they know your brother Daryl,” Philip says.

“Yeah,” Merle echoes, “they did.”

“I want you to talk to them again,” Philip tells him, “see what else you can find out.” Then he turns back to Milton, who’s checking on the disembodied heads of the revenants wired to electrodes in a doomed attempt to stimulate the parts of the brain they don’t use anymore. “Show me something,” he says.

Milton pulls back the vinyl blankets to reveal the decapitated corpses of the revenants with a flourish, as if to say _ta-da!_

“What do you make of them?” Philip wants to know.

“Oh,” Milton says phlegmatically, “pretty impressive, really. Major kudos for ingenuity. Take away their arms, so they can’t grab you. Take away their jaws, so they can’t bite you. Take away their ability to eat, they lose interest in doing so…” he flails his hands in frenzied gesticulations while he talks, “…they’re no longer in attack mode. We can be in their presence without threat, they’re—” he pauses before he articulates, “—they become docile in a sense.”

“Why keep them around?” Philip asks.

“Ah,” Milton says and a smile flickers on his face before he answers, “repellent.”

“Camouflage,” Philip murmurs and puts his fingers in the gaping toothless maw as the disembodied revenant looks at him with dead eyes, “walk with the zombies, they think you’re a zombie. Low profile. That’s smart,” he fizzles out to frown at the meat still on the bare bones of their bodies, “they’re still thin. If they’re not eating, why don’t they starve?”

“Oh,” Milton says, “they are starving, they just do it slower than we do.”

Philip puts his hands on the autopsy table and leans his weight on the surface while he stares at the head in the dissection tray. “Feels like we’re trying to impose logic onto chaos,” he mutters.

“That is not a bad thing,” Milton tells him.

Philip turns and walks over to crouch in front of a cardboard model of Woodbury on another table. “No, but what does is buy us?” he asks. “More questions and theories. No answers.”

Milton pours a cup of fresh tea for his friend and shrugs. “Not yet,” he says, “but if I could talk to those women—”

“Merle’s handling it,” Philip reminds him.

Milton sighs. “I don’t want to question your judgment, Governor…” he says.

Philip grins at him. “Sure you do,” he says. “That’s why I need you,” he adjusts the yarn of the fence before he stands up. “That and your tea.”

“Ah,” Milton says and hands over the mug. “Well, then. With all due respect, letting Merle talk to those women unsupervised is a mistake. I know you’ve always said every toolkit needs a hammer, but do you really feel the hammer is the right tool for that job?”

Philip sips his tea and doesn’t answer the question, but he does end up inviting Milton to breakfast. Which is the right answer, in his own way.

* * *

Cath learns a few things from the walking tour of Woodbury that morning before breakfast. There are seventy-three people in town including herself, Andrea, and Michonne. Rowan, their tour guide, says the walls haven’t been breached in over a month. There’s a curfew at dusk so nobody goes out after dark except the watchers on the wall.

When she woke up that morning, Toby wasn’t in bed with her. If she were alone, she might’ve thought she dreamed him back to life; but Michonne and Andrea both saw him too, so she knows him being here isn’t wishful thinking.

Cath spends most of the tour surreptitiously looking for him, but she doesn’t see him anywhere. _Okay_ , she thinks, _maybe he has guard duty and he’s out sweeping the perimeter instead of standing on the wall. Or maybe this place really is like Stepford and he’s getting a tune-up because he’s a robot. Don’t panic_.

Rowan ends the walking tour in front of the building where the so-called Governor lives. After they go upstairs to have breakfast in his apartment, Michonne sits at the table glowering like a brewing storm on the horizon while he makes them scrambled eggs.

“So,” Philip says, “eight months. Hard to believe you ladies lasted as long as you did out there.”

“Why,” Cath arches her eyebrows at him as she scoops up a spoonful of blueberries and her big brown eyes go almost cartoonishly wide, “because we’re women?”

“No,” Philip says in that artificially sweet and smooth voice of his, “because you were alone.”

“We had each other,” Andrea reminds him matter-of-factly.

“Three against the world,” Philip murmurs. “Those are long odds.”

“We managed,” Andrea says and smiles at Michonne.

“Oh,” Milton says, “we’re impressed. Very.”

Philip nods and spoons eggs from his skillet onto each of their plates in turn before he serves himself. “Survival in the wild is tough sledding,” he says as Michonne stares at where her katana is lurking in a china cabinet like a trophy because he took it from her, “you wake up every morning on the ground wondering if today is the day. Will it be quick and final or slow and, well, without end—if someone had the good sense to kill my brain or am I going to come back as one of them?”

“Do you think they remember anything from before they turned, anything of the person they once were?” Milton asks as Philip sits in the chair to his left.

Andrea shakes her head. “I don’t think about it,” she tells him before she takes a bite of her eggs.

“No,” Cath says out loud. _We know zombies can’t remember anything_ , she thinks, _because they don’t have any higher brain function beyond the stem and cerebellum, but if these people haven’t figured that out I’m not going to be the one who tells them they’re dead wrong_.

“Milton believes there might be a trace of the person they were still trapped inside,” Philip informs them.

“Like an echo,” Milton clarifies. “Surely it must have crossed your mind.”

Cath shrugs and dumps a dollop of ketchup on her eggs. “Once,” she says and tries not to think of Vera reanimating back at the rest stop near Atlanta, “before it tried to bite me.”

“Then you killed it?” Milton asks. “I say ‘it’ only because no one here likes to refer to them as him. Or her. Those two you had in chains,” he says and turns to look at the force of nature that is Michonne, “who were they? I saw the way that you controlled them, used them to your benefit…you did know them, didn’t you?”

Philip clenches his jaw and gives his friend a look of admonishment. “Let them eat,” he says flatly. It’s an order, not a request.

“Ah,” Milton says, “my apologies.”

Cath shrugs again as she takes a sip of her breakfast tea. “No problem,” she says. “So you’ve been running this little town for a while now, haven’t you?” Philip nods. “What’s your secret?”

“Really big walls,” Philip says and smiles in a way that works like a charm on Andrea but doesn’t do much for either of the other women at the table.

“Well,” Andrea says and smiles back, “those soldiers had walls too and we all know that turned out, so…”

Philip smiles wider. “I guess we do,” he drawls, “but the real secret is what goes on within these walls. It’s about getting back to who we were, who we still are. Those zombies are just waiting to be saved, and people have homes here. Medical care. Kids go to school, adults have jobs to do. There’s a sense of purpose. We’re a community.”

Cath flicks her gaze to Andrea, because they know from experience that zombies can’t be saved—they’re too far gone. There’s a stretch of time between infection and zombification where something can be done, but once the infection kills someone they can’t

Milton doesn’t miss the look that passes between them. “We are a community,” he echoes, “with a lot of guns and ammunition.”

“Never hurts,” Philip says. “Really big walls, and men willing to risk everything to defend them. Compromise our safety, destroy our community…I’ll die before I let that happen.”

 _I know what Lucy would say to that_ , Cath thinks. _Famous last words_.

“It looks like you’re sitting pretty at the end of the world,” Andrea tells him with a flare of flirtatiousness in her voice.

Philip leans back in his chair, all smiles. “Do I strike you as the kind of man that sits pretty?” he asks before he adds, “you reap what you sow. We’re the seed, and now winter has passed. It’s time to harvest…”

“…time to hope?” Andrea says, and smiles back.

Philip nods succinctly. “We’re going out there and we’re taking back what’s ours,” he tells her, “civilization. We will rise again, only this time we won’t be eating each other.”

“How’s the tea?” Milton asks as someone knocks at the door.

Philip goes to answer that and returns to the table before any of them get a chance to answer his friend. “Sorry to cut breakfast short,” he says, “but this can’t wait.”

Michonne abruptly rises to her feet and moves toward him. “We want our weapons,” she hisses.

Philip cocks his head as he looks down on her. “Well,” he says, “we can make these meals to go and your weapons will be waiting for you outside the gates, but you should take some time to relax and get your strength back. Why don’t you have a look around?” he suggests. “Who knows?” he glances at Andrea and holds her gaze before he adds, “you might like what you see.”

* * *

“We should tell the Governor about Lucy,” Andrea says as soon as breakfast is over and they’re out walking in the streets with the bowman named Shumpert keeping track of their movements, “about her immunity. I mean, he was talking about saving the world like she always used to—”

Cath stops trying to catch a glimpse of Toby and shakes her head so fast she almost discombobulates herself. “No way,” she says. “That isn’t our secret to tell.”

“We told Michonne,” Andrea points out.

Cath rolls her eyes at the blonde. “No,” she says, “you told Michonne. I wasn’t going to mention it.”

“We shouldn’t be telling him anything,” Michonne cuts in sharply. “I don’t trust him.”

Andrea frowns at that. “Why not?” she asks. “I mean, have you ever trusted anybody?”

Michonne glances at her sidelong. “Yeah,” she mutters in the most gentle tone either Cath or Andrea has ever heard come out of her mouth.

Andrea smiles and ducks her head in a nod. “Then give this a day or two,” she says. “That’s all I’m asking. We need some time to get our shit together.”

“Maybe you do,” Michonne retorts, “my shit never stopped being together.”

“It didn’t look that way when Milton asked you about your revenants,” Andrea says. “I’m surprised he didn’t get a fork in his eye.”

“That was none of his damn business,” Michonne snaps at her.

Andrea sighs. “I guess it’s none of mine either,” she mumbles with a tremor of vulnerability in her voice, “eight months together. After all we’ve been through, I still feel like I hardly know you. I’m sorry,” she frowns at the betrayal Michonne evokes with nothing but a flare of her nostrils, “but it’s the truth. You know everything about me, and I…”

Michonne looks heartbroken and the raw expression on her face makes Cath start to feel like a third wheel all over again. “You know enough,” she whispers, like it hurts to let those words out.

Andrea sighs. “Those zombies protected us all winter long,” she says, “and you cut their heads off without any hesitation.”

Michonne swallows hard at the memory of returning to the refugee center the military set up around her apartment building, at the gruesome sight of her undead boyfriend eating raw meat and blood splattered all over the blanket their son played on because he wasn’t even old enough to crawl. “It was easier than you think,” she bites out before she turns and walks away.

* * *

Toby finds Cath in the town square while Philip gives a speech about the soldiers who sent the helicopter that crashed in Senoia. Apparently their convoy was overrun by the time the so-called Governor and his men arrived at their outpost, but the way he contextualizes the death of those men— _they didn’t have our walls and they didn’t have our fences, we’ll honor them by not taking what we have for granted_ —seems like scare tactics and propaganda to keep the people of Woodbury afraid.

“Something is rotten in the state of Georgia,” he whispers in her ear and she can hear the fake smile in his voice so the speechifying man doesn’t think anything is amiss.

Cath puts on her flawless beauty pageant-winning smile and stops herself from leaning into the comfortable warmth of him since he’s obviously being covert and that confirms every bad feeling she’s been having about this place. “I missed you this morning,” she whispers back, “why did you leave before I woke up?”

“It’s a long story,” Toby sighs, “I have the graveyard shift on the wall because the Governor knows I used to work security. I fell asleep this morning like I always do and then I had to get things ready. I have something to show you. Come on.”

Cath doesn’t ask what things because this clandestine meeting both terrifies and thrills her. After everything she’s been through since the world went to hell in a handbasket, she wants to bask in getting her husband back alive before everything goes wrong.

“I was evacuated from Atlanta to Newnan as soon as I arrived at the airport,” Toby informs her as soon as they’re alone in what she assumes is his apartment. “Milton—Dr. Mamet—was flying in from a NSF Grants Conference he couldn’t telecommute to, and we ended up leaving the city in a shuttle. I went to find his friend with him because I didn’t have anywhere else to go at that point, and we stayed in this apartment complex with him and his daughter Penny for a month. Then everything changed. Penny was bitten and Philip—the Governor—started going out and bringing in other people, building the walls, fostering a sense of community. I thought it was all good until I noticed a few things.”

“One,” a gangly middle-aged man whose face is all sharp angles with a cagey look in his pale blue eyes makes himself known by emerging from the small kitchen and says, “he was keeping his zombified daughter locked in a room upstairs.”

“Two,” a gorgeous middle-aged woman with brown skin and dark brown eyes who speaks with an Auckland accent wearing designer boots that look both fashionable and functional adds, “over a dozen people have gone missing from town without a trace even though no one is allowed to leave.”

“I’m Nate Ford,” the gangly man says and slants his gaze to the woman in the killer heels, “and this is Sophie Devereaux.”

Sophie holds out a hand for the shaking and gives her a mysterious smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says. “We’ve heard so much about you these past four months. Toby didn’t think he was ever going to see you again.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Cath says and shakes her hand before she turns to look at her husband to ask, “was this what you wanted to show me?”

Toby ducks his head and nods. “We’re getting out of here,” he says, “and you’re coming with us.”


	10. Love You to Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks especially to **auburn** for telling me How Construction Works so I could make the building of the wall as realistic as possible and for putting up with my nonsense in the comments. This one is for you.

**I will grow roots here.**  
**Not a promise, but a fact disguised with sincerity,**  
**with longing for the home**  
**left long ago, while the father left claw marks down the wall**  
**and the mother grew silent and still.**

 **Anywhere I feel safe, I’ll dig my hands into,**  
**bury them, let them learn**  
**how not to tremble,**  
**what it means to find shelter, what it means to be gentle,**  
**to finally unclench from fists;**

 **and here, right here—**  
**a tree will grow**  
**from my tired body,**  
**steady and spread out**  
**against the sky.**

Emily Palermo, “A Tree Grows in the Body”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VI**  
_Safety Behind Bars_  
**Chapter 10**  
Love You to Death

* * *

_Tuesday, 12 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 304._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After they salvage the criminal records of Oscar and Axel at the Department of Corrections, Lucy and Daryl call a group meeting to decide their fate. Lori is still on bedrest with Hershel monitoring her, but everyone else crowds into the library—even Andre, who gurgles ecstatically and spits up the mush he ate that morning while Anton wears his baby carrier and a megawatt smile.

“Oscar did break into his neighbors’ house,” Lucy informs them, “because he saw his neighbor beating on his wife, but the wife denied everything to the police and the husband pressed charges. It didn’t help that both of his neighbors were white.”

“Axel was charged with possession a while back ’cause he got caught with a bunch of prescription drugs that weren’t prescribed t’ him,” Daryl adds, “so technically he wasn’t lyin’ when he said he likes his pharmaceuticals, but he was in here ’cause he robbed a convenience store with a water pistol.”

“Yup,” Lucy snorts and pops the _p_ sound, “he spray-painted it black and it fooled the clerk behind the counter, but he got caught later that night because the convenience store he robbed was a few blocks from his apartment. After that, he was sent to a rehab center where he detoxed and went through withdrawal from Xanax before he was transferred here.”

“Not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed,” Kate says.

“How do we do this?” Gilda asks, “should we take a vote?”

Lucy shrugs. “There are only two options,” she points out, “either we let them stay here and live among us or we leave them outside the gates to fend for themselves.”

“I think we should bring them into the fold,” T-Dog says.

Eliot nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, “we need all the able bodies we can get. No offense, sweetheart.”

“None taken,” Lucy mumbles. “I understand what you mean. We need people to till the fields, build the wall, dig trenches and a reservoir, scavenge more supplies, bring in cars for scrap, and eventually salvage medical equipment for my research lab. I’m not physically capable of doing most of that myself, and having more people doing the work means shit gets done faster.”

“You can’t be serious,” Rick says incredulously. “You want them sleeping in a cell next to us?”

“There are six hundred cells in the prison,” Nico retorts, “they wouldn’t have to live next door to us.”

“What if they’re just waiting for a chance to grab our weapons?” Rick asks. “You want to go back to sleeping with one eye open?”

“I didn’t think we ever stopped,” Parker says as Alec sneaks an arm around her waist and keeps his grip loose to avoid putting any pressure on her.

Jacqui folds her arms tight across her chest. “If we’re going to send them packing,” she murmurs, “we might as well just execute them ourselves.”

“I don’t know,” Glenn says. “Axel seems a little unstable.”

Carol nods. “After all we’ve been through,” she says, “we fought so hard for this. What if they decide to take it?”

“Them and what army?” Kate asks.

“It’s just been us for so long,” Maggie adds. “I know I said we should talk about letting them stay here, but they’re strangers. It feels weird all of a sudden to have other people hanging around.”

“You brought us in,” Morgan says.

“You turned up on our doorstep with a shot boy in your arms,” Beth points out. “You didn’t give us much of a choice.”

“You said they can’t even kill zombies,” Gert chimes in.

Amy tucks a strand of blonde hair behind one ear and tucks the hand Gilda isn’t holding in the pocket of her jeans. “Those guys might actually have less blood on their hands than we do,” she says.

“I get guys like this,” Daryl says gruffly. “Hell, I grew up with ’em, and they’re degenerates, but they ain’t psychos. I could’ve been in here with ’em just as easy as I’m here with you guys.”

Rick shakes his head slowly and frowns so deeply that his brow furrows. “When I was a rookie,” he says, “I arrested this kid. He was wanted for stabbing his girlfriend. He blubbered like a baby during the interrogation, during the trial, suckered the jury. He was acquitted due to insufficient evidence and two weeks later he shot another girl.”

“Wait,” Lucy narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses before she bites out, “you had a case like that pre-apocalypse and you still gave me shit for wanting to kill Randall?”

Rick clenches his jaw and looks down at the floor instead of meeting her eyes. “We’ve been through too much,” he says.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Lucy mutters under her breath.

“Look,” Rick says through clenched teeth before he asks, “whose blood would you rather have on your hands, ours or theirs?”

“Neither,” T-Dog answers.

 _Famous last words_ , Lucy thinks.

* * *

_Wednesday, 13 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 305._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Michonne gives Andrea a week to get her shit together and she tries to give Woodbury a chance, she really does; but the longer they extend their hospitality, the more her gut tells her that something is wrong here.

When the Governor calls her a soldier and tries to wheedle her into staying in town, it’s blatantly obvious to her that he uses people up and spits them out like chewing gum as soon as they outlive their usefulness to him. Michonne was a criminal prosecutor for years and she has seen some shit, watched guys like this so-called Governor work the system and use the rule of law to their advantage. Andrea can’t see that because she doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to see this man as anything but their saving grace.

Michonne stops Cath and corners her on her way out of the apartment where they’ve been staying while Andrea is out asking Merle to go on a mission with her to track down Amy and Daryl, starting from the farm in Senoia where they parted ways. “I know you’ve been sneaking off to see your husband,” she murmurs. “What’s going on with him?”

Cath sighs and shuts the door so nobody can overhear their conversation from the hallway. “Toby was here before this was a town,” she whispers, “before the Governor became the Governor. Woodbury was built as a pretext for the mad science experiments Milton performs on zombies they capture, because the Governor is trying to reverse the zombification process. Apparently they use people who either die of natural causes or try to leave this place as research subjects, too.”

Michonne frowns because she feels vindicated by this new information, but it also means she put them all in danger by insisting they get the hell out of dodge as soon as possible. “Were you ever going to tell me?” she wants to know.

Cath doesn’t even hesitate before she nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “Yes,” she hisses, “of course. I was just waiting until I knew all of the facts. Toby has people working on this escape with him, and they’ve been spying on the Governor for months looking for a chink in the armor of this place so they can leave without being tracked down by Merle and those other goons.”

“What people?” Michonne asks dubiously.

Cath shrugs. “Toby trusts them,” she says, “and I trust him. I didn’t tell you until now because I knew you would get suspicious and start asking questions, and we can’t keep talking about this or we’re going to get caught. If that happens, we won’t have a shot in hell at getting out of here alive. I also thought you might tell Andrea, who seems like she wants to put down roots in this place. If you bring this up, she’s going to find a reason to doubt you. It’s a miracle she hasn’t told the Governor that immunity is a thing yet.”

Michonne swallows hard. “Yeah,” she mutters, “she doesn’t trust me like she used to, not with _him_ around.”

Cath tentatively reaches out to give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Michonne almost flinches away before she forces herself to relax. Cath smiles at her before she takes back her hand slowly. “There’s some big event happening on Saturday night,” she whispers, “we’re going to slip out during the hullabaloo.”

“I don’t think we should wait that long,” Michonne says, “not if this place is as dangerous as your husband and his people think it is.”

Cath hunches her shoulders and squishes her mouth into a flat line while she thinks that through. “Why don’t we wait until I charge my radio?” she asks. “I know it’s a long shot, but if Lucy or Kate or Nico is within range then I can find out if Amy survived the winter. Andrea may not want to leave now, but she won’t think twice if she knows her sister is waiting on the other side of these walls.”

“Fine,” Michonne says, “but I’m not waiting around without a weapon. I’m getting my sword back.”

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Lucy delegates building the wall to Daryl, because he worked construction for years and he knows his shit. After a week has passed, they’ve dug a foundation into the space between the outer fences using compact trenchers called Ditch Witches they scavenged along with other construction equipment from a rental lot, lined the foundation with gravel for drainage, leveled the base of the wall using cinderblocks and mortar, and poured a slab of concrete just above ground level that has been curing for a few days.

There are cement mixers parked in front of C block now, waiting to pour another slab while they dig a reservoir and start treating the water supply they gathered from the creek to make it potable. Anton has been using a backhoe to dig trenches around the outermost fence with people guarding him from the towers and taking out zombies who shamble out of the woods, lured by the noise of the Ditch Witches behind the fence. Daryl, Morgan, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Parker, Eliot, Rick, T-Dog, and Nico take a day to drive some of the rigs out into the city and bring flatbed trailers stacked with cinderblocks back to the prison, along with a surplus of supplies from the places they didn’t scavenge over the winter because they didn’t have enough rigs to transport everything they found. Which is all grueling work, but that doesn’t stop Lucy from wishing that she were physically capable of doing it.

 _I contribute to the group in other ways_ , she thinks as Amy draws another unit of her blood like she does every week,  _the only people here who think I’m not doing enough are me, myself, and my anxiety_.

While they’re waiting for their first layer of concrete to cure, they start tilling the prison yard to sow crops. Hershel draws a diagram for planting and crop rotation on the map and pots a few tomato seedlings they scavenged from a house with a garden in one of the neighborhoods they swept before they found the prison. April is a time for planting scallions, spring onions, shallots, garlic, potatoes, carrots, summer cauliflower, lettuce, radishes, turnips, and peas outdoors and sowing the seeds of pumpkins, squash, cucumbers, peppers, broccoli, and celery indoors to plant out in the summer. Eliot starts building the greenhouse from the big rig full of gardening supplies Lucy had listed in anticipation of the eventuality that her people would have to grow their own food. Kate, Maggie, and Beth set up indoor beds of soil for summer crops and outdoor beds on the roof of their cell block to grow herbs and flowers. Nico has been scavenging more solar panels from warehouses to convert their electrical system so that eventually they won’t have to scavenge gas or use biodiesel to keep the power on.

There’s a smaller field on the other side of the prison where the dairy cow and the calves are grazing and their chickens are still living in the portable coop in one corner of the field next to the rabbit hutch. Romy and Harley are unleashed as soon as they clear the last of the zombies out of the prison, and a slew of stray cats Hershel found in barns on farms they scavenged that didn’t get burned down are culling the rodent infestation in the tombs. One of the stray queens is pregnant, so they’re going to have a litter of kittens any day now. Hershel set up a nesting box for her in the laundry room, where the dogs can’t snack on her food or drink her water.

Daryl is sweating through his shirt by the time he catches sight of Lucy planting seed potatoes in a patch of soil where they dug a few rows of shallow trenches. When the sunshine touches her brown hair, it burnishes like copper. Lucy keeps it up in a messy bun nowadays because Cath used to braid it for her and she’s not comfortable with anyone else doing her hair. Daryl has to stop tilling and swallow the urge to tangle his fingers in the soft frizz of her hair, to kiss her pretty mouth and feel the warmth of burning daylight in his hands.

T-Dog glances up and smiles at the sight of Nico propping up a set of solar panels on the roof of the main building. “It’s gonna be another long day,” he says.

Carol frowns as she takes a sip of water from the canteen she clipped to one of their buckets of gardening tools. “Where are Glenn and Maggie?” she wonders. “We could use their help.”

“I think they’re up there in that guard tower,” Daryl says and points at the tower with the gatehouse that guards the innermost fence.

Rick stops and cocks his head in confusion. “Weren’t they just up there last night?” he asks no one in particular.

“Glenn!” Daryl shouts, “Maggie!”

When he emerges from inside the tower, Glenn is shirtless and trying to zip up his fly. “Hey!” he shouts back awkwardly. “What’s up, guys?”

Daryl smirks because they’re fucking in the same guard tower where he slept with Lucy their first night at the prison. Which doesn’t come as a surprise to him, since nobody can have sex in the cell block without everyone else overhearing them and there’s only so many places where people can be alone together. “You comin’?” he asks.

Maggie scowls at the question. “What?” she yells back at him.

“You comin’?” Daryl echoes with snicker and a dash of innuendo in his Southern drawl. “C’mon. We need your help over here.”

“Yeah,” Glenn tells him sheepishly, “sorry. We’ll be right down.”

“You know Daryl and I banged like a screen door in a hurricane in that guard tower our first night here, right?” Lucy asks as Glenn and Maggie do their walk of shame past the gatehouse.

Maggie groans and hides her face in one hand. “Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath.

“Rick,” Hershel comes in over the radio. “Rick, do you copy?”

Lucy glances at Rick, who doesn’t seem to hear the transmission. “I don’t think he’s wearing his earpiece,” she says. “I just put mine in this morning out of habit. What’s wrong, Hershel?”

“Lori’s water just broke,” Hershel tells her, “she’s going into labor.”

Lucy drops the trowel in her hand. “Oh shit,” she blurts out before she rises to her feet and flails to grab her cane. “Rick!” she yelps. “Thundercats are go!”

“What?” Rick asks.

Lucy hobbles over to unlock the inner gate. “Lori’s water broke,” she informs him. “Hershel, is she having contractions?”

“Yes,” Hershel tells her, “she started having them early this morning but they weren’t regular until a few hours ago. Now they’re six minutes apart, so I don’t think she’s going to give birth for hours. I just thought Rick should know.”

Lucy nods as the former sheriff runs through the gate at full tilt with Carol and Carl holding down the sheriff’s hat on his head close behind him. “Rick and Carl should be there any minute,” she murmurs. “Carol’s on her way too.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” Hershel says before he turns his radio off to conserve the battery.

Lori is now two weeks overdue to give birth to her daughter, but Rick isn’t giving her the silent treatment anymore; they’ve been talking about the issues they had as a couple pre-apocalypse and they’ve been sleeping in the same bed for the first time in almost a year. Hershel and Amy end up having to perform a C-section because the baby is breech, and Lori starts to bleed out on the operating table. When she dies in the infirmary later that afternoon, Rick breaks down and crumples to the floor in tears. It’s Carl who steps up and shoots her to stop her from turning into a zombie.

Carol goes to clean the baby using cotton wool to wipe the viscera away while Hershel tries and fails to comfort Rick, and Carl bursts into tears because the bleeding finally stops. Amy walks out into the hallway, but she doesn’t need to tell the others the bad news because the sound of the gunshot told the horror story for her. Gilda hugs her and she buries her sobs in the crook of her neck, clinging to her girlfriend with spots of blood on her hands. Jacqui slaps one of her hands over her mouth to muffle her sobs and Duane, who’s almost as tall as she is since his last growth spurt, lets his aunt cry on his shoulder. Lucy swallows thickly and looks up at Daryl as he clenches his jaw and digs his fingers into her waist, holding onto her like his life depends on it.

Lori doesn’t get a headstone, but during her funeral Daryl carves the epitaph Carl dictates to him into the trunk of a tree by the bridge that branches out above her grave:

 _HERE LIES LORI GRIMES_  
_BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER_  
_SHE DIED TO BRING JOY INTO THE WORLD_.


	11. Death Row

**Here’s how to survive:**  
**Watch as everyone around you dies.**  
**Scream until your eyes work.**  
**They will work when you pick up a weapon.**  
**They will work when something changes.**

Daphne Gottlieb, “Final Girl II: The Frame”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 11**  
Death Row

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Judith Joy Grimes is born on the seventeenth of April, in the afternoon; but she doesn’t have a name during her first day on earth because her mother dies to bring her into the world and her father goes catatonic.

“Rick?” Morgan waves a hand in front of the former sheriff’s face. “Rick, you still with us?”

Carol lets Carl hold his baby sister and makes sure he knows how to support her head before she walks over to where Sophia is trying not to cry. Rick abruptly rises to his feet before he turns and walks out of the main building to clear his head while his newborn daughter wails.

“We need t’ feed her,” Daryl observes. “We got anythin’ a baby can eat?”

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek as she goes through her list of their inventory in her head. “Lori wanted to breastfeed,” she mumbles. “We have a few cans of formula since it can take a few days for breast milk to come in and she didn’t want her daughter going hungry if that happened, but it’s not enough.”

Daryl nods brusquely. “We should go for a run,” he says. “We ain’t losin’ nobody else. C’mon.”

Lucy adjusts her glasses and swallows around the lump in her throat as Carol goes to make a bottle and takes Sophia with her. “Let me get my bag,” she says.

“I’ll go too,” Glenn offers.

Maggie ducks her head and nods in spite of her tears. “I’ll back you guys up,” she adds.

“Beth,” Daryl murmurs and takes the teenage girl aside, “Carl just lost his mom and his dad ain’t doin’ so hot—”

“I’ll look after him,” Beth promises.

“Alec,” Lucy calls over her shoulder as she hobbles back to where she left her weapons in the library, “send a drone to scout Highway 34 and clear any hordes in the area off the road. There’s a Walmart less than five miles away from here. We can get in and out before dark.”

Daryl shrugs his poncho over his head and checks the chamber of his revolver for ammo. “Sounds like a plan,” he says. “T, take Morgan and sweep the fence. If too many zombies pile up before we get them trenches dug, we got ourselves a problem.”

“We’ll go too,” Oscar says. “Come on, Axel.”

Axel doesn’t look thrilled by the idea of doing a perimeter sweep, but he goes along with it anyway. Glenn and Maggie grab their guns and climb into a rig with an empty trailer. If they’re going on a run, they might as well scavenge as many supplies as they can while they’re out.

“Roads are being cleared as we speak,” Alec tells Lucy as she hobbles by the control room he set up in the warden’s office.

Lucy shrugs her backpack on over her rain poncho and tucks her cane in the crook of her elbow as she loops her safety goggles around her neck. “Thank you,” she calls back to him over her shoulder and stretches the _ooh_ sound like saltwater taffy on her way out of the main building.

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils as she hobbles over and gets on the back of his bike. When she puts her arms around his waist and snuggles up against his back, he takes one of her hands and hunches to kiss her knuckles before he grips the handlebars again. “Let’s go!” he shouts and guns the engine.

Kate and Nico run to open the front gate and haul it shut as soon as they’re clear. Lucy shuts her eyes until everything fades to black, until all she can feel is numb.

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

It turns out that Woodbury doesn’t have the technology Cath needs to recharge her earpiece, so they don’t know if anyone else is alive on the other side of those really big walls. Michonne refuses to leave without Andrea because she hasn’t lost hope that she might be able to change her mind. Toby shows Cath his escape hatch, one of many that were built into the walls in case the town was ever overrun and people had to make a quick getaway—although most of them have been sealed, officially as a precaution to keep zombies from breaching the walls and unofficially because the so-called Governor doesn’t want people to leave.

Philip gives a speech to kick off the six-month meniversary of Woodbury as Cath, Toby, Nate and Sophie make their getaway. “Uh,” he clears his throat and chuckles, “the first time we gathered, there were nine of us holed up in an apartment with spam and saltine crackers. Well, look at us now. We’ve built a place that we can call home. It may be held together with duct tape and string, but it works. It’s ours,” he smiles at that and looks at Andrea to hold her gaze as he adds, “I’ll take it. So today we celebrate how far we’ve come. We remember those we’ve lost. We raise a glass,” he says and holds up his plastic cup of lemonade, “to us.”

“Cheers, you wanker,” Sophia mutters under her breath as she crawls out through the hatch and ducks out of sight of the girl on guard duty. Haley has been turning a blind eye to Toby going hiking in the woods once a week for months, but she’s not going to keep her mouth shut about the escape hatch if she notices him sneaking out with his bags packed and three people in cahoots with him.

Nobody expects anyone to attempt an escape in broad daylight, especially from a place like Woodbury; a place that people aren’t supposed to want to leave. It helps that Michonne is making a big stink back in town in a doomed attempt to show Andrea that Philip is not what he seems. Stakes are high because she knows he might have her killed and donate her body to mad science if she takes this too far, but what she has with Andrea is worth the risk. It’s something Michonne never thought she could have again; something worth fighting for, even though her gut is telling her that she can’t win.

When she breaks into his office to take her sword back and find evidence of the human experiments Cath was talking about, she finds a notebook on his desk. Michonne skims the first page and sees his notes scribbled almost on top of each other, starting with: _make notes on what to tell the town…they need to stay calm._

_Today made me wonder if being the governor or being the man in charge makes the people feel like they actually have someone to look up to, feel like they’re being taken care of…sometimes I doubt that. I believe I’m a good leader. I love talking about my town and supporting it, but sometimes I just need to find a way to relax…like a bottle of scotch and some classic Sinatra._

_I grew up always being told to stay one step ahead of myself…to never stumble._

There are black scratches where he redacted certain words, since he writes his notes in ink. Lists of sanitation procedures, electrical maintenances, food rations, judiciary measures. _I want my town to be completely crime free_ , he writes under the subheading of _Guards_. There are names written on another page, ending with the name _Penny_ underlined four times and punctuated by a period. Michonne frowns at the following pages, the repetitive slashes of ink written in between the lines.

When something goes bump in the back room, she tries to jimmy the lock open until she hears footsteps and voices out in the hallway. Michonne ducks out of sight as the doorknob turns and eavesdrops on Milton arguing with the Governor and Merle over generator usage, but they’re speaking too vaguely for their conversation to give her anything to use against them. After she sneaks out using the fire escape, Michonne goes to snoop around the industrial building where she found out Milton does his experiments and finds a slew of zombies in cages. It’s terribly cathartic to break the lock and slaughter them all, even though she knows the Governor might try to put her out of her misery for this.

Tim walks out with a bucket of raw meat and drops it with a clunk at the sight of her. Michonne lets Merle take her sword and haul her in for an interrogation. Maybe if Andrea sees her being manhandled, she’ll change her mind about getting the hell out of this place.

“So,” Philip says as Merle goes to wait outside and shuts the door behind him, “do you get off on that? Pokin’ around other people’s things?” he props her katana by a folding table behind him before he leans back against the table across from her to subtly put himself above her. “We’ve got nothing to hide here.”

Michonne has to force herself not to roll her eyes. “People with nothing to hide don’t usually feel the need to say so,” she murmurs.

Philip nods. “That’s fair,” he says. “We all have our secrets, huh?”

Michonne narrows her eyes at him. “Like Penny?” she asks.

Philip looks stricken at the name and that makes her feel vindicated and vicious. “If you know about Penny,” he says, “then you know I loved her.”

Michonne arches one eyebrow at him like a challenge. “I bet you say that about all the girls,” she retorts.

That makes him smile. Apparently she was wrong and Penny isn’t the blonde woman in the picture from his office. Which can only mean that Penny is the little girl in the photograph, the girl who must be his daughter. Philip grins at her as he sits in the chair across from her, bringing himself down to her level. “You’ve got the wrong idea about me,” he says and folds his hands on the table in front of him. “I’m just a guy trying to do right by the people I care about. Now,” he drawls in that artificial sweetener voice of his, “you want to leave, Andrea wants to stay, so you want me to take choice out of the equation. You want me to kick you out. Actually,” he turns and looks over his shoulder at her katana, “I was just about to give your sword back, ’cause you fit in. We’ve enjoyed having you.”

Michonne glares at him while he picks up her katana and walks around the table in between them to stand behind her. It hits her hard in this moment that she could die here, that he could gut her with her own weapon and turn her into a zombified girl in a cage. _Maybe that’s what happened to Penny_ , she thinks and forces herself not to flinch as bile rises in her throat because of his proximity to her.

“This is a real problem for me,” Philip tells her. “People follow the rules and whether or not it’s true, they believe the rules are what keeps them alive. You’ve turned that upside-down,” he says and steps closer still. “You’ve broken the rules, and if I don’t do anything I invite anarchy.”

Michonne swallows the bile in her mouth and waits for him to get closer.

“How about this?” Philip asks. “I keep a lid on your little outburst, you join the research team. It’s obvious you have the skills, and you’re not afraid of zombies. Merle will take care of you, and then—”

Michonne rises to her feet as she snatches her katana out of his hands and draws the blade in one smooth movement to hold the kissaki at his throat, turning the tables with the sharp edge and looking him dead in the eyes to show him that she is something to fear. Then she backs away from him slowly and slams her katana back into its sheath, because slashing his throat isn’t going to help her show Andrea what a monster he really is.

“How’d it go?” Merle asks as Michonne walks out of the interrogation room with her weapon in her hand where it belongs and Philip touches his throat to see if she drew blood.

“Oh,” Philip says and exhales a bitter laugh, “she’s all personality, that one.”

“We gonna have a problem?” Merle wants to know.

“No,” Philip tells him, “send Andrea over to me and take the research team to get more grist for the mill. I can handle this.”

Famous last words.


	12. Lost and Found

**I keep seeking the exit**  
**or the home.**

Anne Sexton, “The Children”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 12**  
Lost and Found

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Walmart Supercenter._

* * *

Daryl and Lucy sweep the supercenter and drop the undead bodies inside while Maggie and Glenn wait in the big rig. There are dozens of zombies in the building and some are fresher than others, meaning other survivors must’ve tried to scavenge this place and they met their doom because they weren’t immune. After they clear the store, Lucy fills her backpack with packets of seeds from the gardening center while Maggie, Glenn, and Daryl fill carts with baby food and other supplies.

“How’s the perimeter look?” Glenn asks T-Dog over the radio as they stack cans of powdered formula in the back of the big rig along with piles of clothes that weren’t eaten by moths, bottles of water and juice past its expiration date but with the kind of lids that keep the liquid from going bad until the seals are broken, and boxes of nonperishable food the rodents hadn’t gotten to yet.

“It’s secure,” T-Dog says, “we’re taking out stragglers from the guard towers until dark.”

“Medusa,” Amy chimes in, “Officer Friendly thinks he’s been talking to Jim on a phone he found down in the tombs.”

Lucy frowns, the space between her eyebrows furrowing. Kate had told her that Rick thought he saw a helicopter that no one else could see or hear back in Atlanta, so this isn’t much of a surprise. It’s still something she doesn’t know how to deal with. “I want him locked in a cell,” she orders, “and take anything that he could use to hurt himself away from him. No weapons. No belt or shoelaces. No sheets.”

“You want to put Officer Friendly on suicide watch?” Amy asks.

Lucy ducks her head in a nod as she hums her answer. “I’m not letting him walk around with a gun if he’s hallucinating,” she says, “lock him up so he won’t be a danger to himself or anybody else. I can talk to him and see how bad things are as soon as I get back. Until then, better safe than dead.”

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Andrea meets Philip upstairs in his apartment without suspecting that anything nefarious is afoot because she desperately wants to believe the pretty lie instead of the ugly truth. “What’s wrong?” she asks him. “Merle said it was urgent.”

“I need your help,” Philip says. “It’s Michonne.”

Andrea frowns as the door shuts in her wake. “What about her?” she wants to know.

“She broke in,” Philip informs her, “stole her weapon.”

Andrea shakes her head. “She can’t steal something that’s hers,” she retorts.

“She went into a private place and slaughtered half a dozen captive zombies,” Philip tells her sharply.

Andrea frowns even harder at that. “Why would you have captive zombies?” she asks.

“There’s a good reason that I don’t want to go into right now,” Philip answers with a harsh edge in his voice.

“Okay,” Andrea says and fizzles out on the _ay_ sound.

“Point is,” Philip says, “I tried to talk to her about it and she pulled her sword on me. Held it to my throat. I can’t imagine that surprises you.”

Andrea squares her shoulders to stop herself from hunching defensively. “Michonne wouldn’t do that unless she felt threatened,” she points out.

“She makes people uncomfortable,” Philip says with forced nonchalance, “some people want her to leave. I don’t want that—it’s ugly out there and it’s getting worse every day—but she put my back against the wall here.”

“What are you saying?” Andrea wants to know.

“I’m saying that what works out there doesn’t work in here,” Philip tells her sharply, “we’re not barbarians.”

Andrea folds her arms tight across her chest. “Merle told me you said we couldn’t go out looking for Amy and Daryl,” she retorts in a taut voice that comes out of her mouth like an accusation.

“I need Merle here,” Philip says, “and going out looking for people who could’ve died at any point during the past eight months would be using resources we don’t have on a wild goose chase. I’m sorry, but unless you give me more to go on…”

Andrea nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “You’ve been looking for a way to cure the zombie virus, right?” she asks him. “You and Milton?”

Philip cocks his head in a way that reminds her of a bird of prey and narrows his eyes at her. “That was the goal,” he answers, “but we’ve been at a dead end for a while now. I’m starting to think it might not even be possible.”

“Well,” Andrea says and flicks her tongue against her teeth to enunciate the mellifluous _l_ sound, “you’ve got another think coming. There’s a cure. I know because I’ve seen it. If you help me find my sister, odds are you’ll find the only person that I know of who’s ever survived a zombie bite.”

“Your sister is immune to the zombie virus?” Philip asks in a hush of skepticism mixed with an insidious pinch of hope.

“No,” Andrea tells him, “but a friend of ours is. Her name is Lucy.”

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Walmart Supercenter._

* * *

Lucy, meanwhile, is trying on a 2XL Batman logo t-shirt over her dress when Daryl puts one hand on the back of her neck and tilts her chin up with the other to kiss her so hard and so desperately that her knees actually go weak. “What was that for?” she whispers and clutches at his forearms with her fingers while he nuzzles her hair.

“Nothin’,” Daryl says in a low drawl that feels hot on her skin and makes her shiver. “I just wanted to. I’ve been wantin’ to since this mornin’.”

Lucy tangles the fingers of the hand she isn’t using to grip her cane in the unruly hair at the nape of his neck and goes on tiptoe to kiss him until he digs his fingers into the flesh of her waist to pull her flush against him, until all she can feel is the heat and hard muscle of his body and the raw feeling of need rooted deep in the marrow of her bones.

Daryl breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against hers and strokes her cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “We should get back,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna lose the light.”

Lucy nuzzles his nose with hers and nods. “Okay,” she ekes the _oh_ sound out into a yawn as she pulls the Batman t-shirt up over her head and stuffs it into her backpack. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Andrea opens the door to their apartment to find Michonne packing her bags and glances around guiltily before she realizes Cath is nowhere to be seen. “We’ve got to talk,” she says.

Michonne shakes her head so fast she almost discombobulates herself. “We’ve got to go,” she says urgently.

Andrea sighs. “Michonne,” she says, “the Governor told me what happened. You can’t do things like this. You’re freaking people out. You’re freaking _me_ out.”

“Northeast wall is guarded by some girl,” Michonne tells her. “We can escape there after dark.”

Andrea stumbles back and exhales a soft noise that sounds like _oof_ as Michonne shoves her duffle bag into her arms. “We are not prisoners here,” she huffs.

“No one who comes here leaves,” Michonne says urgently.

Andrea drops her duffle bag on the bed and sighs again. “What are you talking about?” she asks. “It’s _safe_. There’s food. There’s shelter. There’s people, for God’s sake.”

“That’s what they show you,” Michonne snaps, “but you can’t leave unless—”

“You’re not making any sense,” Andrea tells her, “maybe you need to sit for a minute.”

“You need to trust me,” Michonne hisses.

“You need to give me more to go on,” Andrea snaps back at her. “We’ve got a good thing going here.”

“I thought this was temporary,” Michonne says and recoils as a lump forms in her throat.

“Well,” Andrea says, “I think we need this. Mich, I want to give this place a real shot.”

“I tried,” Michonne bites out.

Andrea shakes her head. “How,” she asks, “by breaking into houses? That is not trying. That is sabotaging.”

“This place is not what they say it is,” Michonne whispers and winces because it sounds too much like begging. _Please don’t make me leave without you_ goes unspoken, and maybe unheard.

Andrea picks up her bag and walks out of the apartment with her, but on their way to the gate she drags her steps because she doesn’t want to go. Michonne hopes the Governor will try to keep them from leaving town, but instead Merle puts on a big show and opens the gate to let her out. Andrea sighs and looks at her with distrust in those pale blue eyes of hers, and that breaks her heart in a whole new way she hadn’t even thought was possible.

“This was all for show,” Michonne says as comprehension dawns, “they knew we were coming.”

Andrea shakes her head. “Mich, do you hear yourself?” she asks. “Why would they even bother?” Then she lowers her voice because Merle is watching them. “I practically begged the Governor to let you stay,” she whispers.

“I didn’t ask for that,” Michonne whispers back.

“You didn’t have to,” Andrea tells her softly. “That’s what friends do for each other.”

“It goes both ways,” Michonne says, because they’re still friends even if they’re nothing else to each other and that means something to her. It means she doesn’t want to lose the only friend she has left in the world.

Andrea frowns at her as the gate hangs open in front of them. “So you want to run around out there eating twigs, with zombies on chains, is that right?” she asks.

“We held our own,” Michonne says.

“It was _eight months_ ,” Andrea retorts and spits the words out in an exhaustive rasp, “eight months on the road moving from place to place, scavenging, living in a meat locker. That was no life. I’m tired, Mich. I’m tired. I don’t have another eight months in me, not like that, and you…”

“What about me?” Michonne asks as she tries to swallow around the lump still lurking in her throat.

“I’m afraid you’re going to disappear,” Andrea whispers as unshed tears claw at the corners of her eyes, “we always talked about this place, didn’t we? Finding a refuge? That idea is what kept us going.”

“Andrea,” Michonne says in a hush, “are you coming or not?”

“Don’t do this,” Andrea says and shakes her head. “Don’t give me an ultimatum, not after everything—”

“You’d just slow me down anyway,” Michonne snarls at her as she walks out and her heart breaks all over again at the sound of Andrea calling her name. It feels good in a twisted sort of way, to choose herself over another person and walk away with her head held high in spite of the ache in her chest.

Love hurts, even at the end of the world.

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Lucy winces at the sound of the baby crying that echoes in her ears as she unlocks the door and hobbles into the guard station. Romy boofs and runs to meet her with a clatter of claws against the stone underfoot. Lucy props her cane against the wall and crouches to give her puppy a hug while Romy licks her chin and noses at her neck. Harley walks over to her with his tongue lolling out of his mouth and smiles a happy doggy smile as she scratches his ears.

Daryl goes to where Carl is sitting at the table and gently takes the baby out of his arms. “How’s she doin’?” he asks as she gurgles and starts to shriek again. “Shh,” he hushes her and she latches to the bottle Carol warmed up before he asks, “she got a name yet?”

Carl shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says and glances at Amy, “I was thinking maybe Andrea, or Patricia…” he flicks his gaze to Beth and looks down at the floor, “…or Lori. I don’t know.”

Daryl squints at the baby and his mouth unfurls into a crooked smile. “You like that?” he murmurs. “Little Asskicker,” he exhales a quiet gust of laughter as his smile flourishes into a full-blown grin, “right? That’s a good name, right? Little Asskicker,” he says and shifts his weight from one foot to the other to gently rock the baby. “You like that, sweetheart?”

Lucy scrunches up her whole face because Daryl feeding a baby is doing something weird to her ovaries, and having a baby right now is the last thing she wants or needs.

“You wanna hold her?” Daryl asks.

Lucy shakes her head slowly as she rises to her feet. “I need to check on Rick,” she mumbles.

“Rick’s asleep,” Hershel says. “You shouldn’t wake him.”

Lucy muffles a yawn in one palm before she takes Amy aside into the breakroom. “What did you learn from the autopsy?” she wants to know.

Amy slants her gaze to Hershel as the veterinarian comes to stand in the doorway. “Lori died because of a blood clot,” she says, “a massive pulmonary embolism caused her right ventricle to fail and cut off blood supply to her lungs. Which explains why her pressure dropped so fast.”

Hershel nods gravely. “There was nothing we could’ve done to save her,” he adds, “we would’ve had to crack her chest to surgically remove the blood clot during the C-section. Which probably still would’ve killed her, even if the procedure had been performed in a hospital by more experienced surgeons with access to better medicine and proper treatment.”

“Thank you,” Lucy tells Amy. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy, cutting her open like that.”

Amy folds her arms tight across her chest and ducks her head so her blonde hair falls into her face. “I wanted to do it,” she says solemnly. “I needed to know why she died.”

“Medusa,” Kate cuts in over the radio before Lucy has a chance to respond to that. “You need to come outside right now. You’re not going to believe who’s at the gate.”

Lucy narrows her eyes behind her glasses and hobbles out of the breakroom. “Okay,” she mumbles and ekes the _oh_ sound out into an impatient _ooh_.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asks softly to avoid waking the baby dozing off in his arms.

Lucy shrugs and reloads her .22 with a ten-round clip. “There’s someone at the gate,” she informs him.

Daryl clenches his jaw and hands the baby to Carol before he goes to grab his crossbow. “Let’s go see if they’re lookin’ t’ make friends,” he says gruffly.

Only it turns out they don’t need to make friends or put on a threat display, because the person standing on the gravel path behind the front gate is Cath. There are three people standing with her, but Lucy barely even notices them as she drops her cane and runs awkwardly to throw her arms around the skinnier girl. “I thought you died,” she blurts out in a glorified whisper.

“No,” Cath laughs through her tears with a conspiratorial whisper of her own and hugs her back, “rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.”


	13. Turn on Your Light

**Would you follow me to the ends of the earth?**  
**I’ve found hollows, libraries to sleep in, slipped**  
**into abandoned museums to escape the cold,**  
**lay my face on marble floors. Walked through shoes**  
**and worn-out blankets, eaten from supply closets,**  
**lit candles in cabins, found solar flashlights in the dark.**  
**I’ve learned maps of matches and bottled water, iodine and Cipro.**  
**I’ve packed so much into these final days and you never found me.**

Jeannine Hall Gailey, “To the Ends of the Earth”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 13**  
Turn on Your Light

* * *

_Sunday, 17 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 309._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Toby has a safehouse that he set up a few miles outside of Woodbury and Cath had told Michonne where it was so they could meet again if she made it out of town alive, but they never make it there because she hears a motorcycle engine thrumming and runs out of the woods in time to see Lucy and Daryl riding off into the sunset with the big rig behind them. Glenn and Maggie don’t see them in the rearview mirror, so they end up burning daylight and hitting the road at a run to find out where they’re going.

“It looks like they’re headed to West Georgia Correctional,” Nate deduces as they watch the big rig turn off Bullsboro Drive onto a backroad without a name.

Sophie turns to look at him. “What if Eliot’s still at the prison?” she asks, “if anyone could survive the zombie apocalypse…”

“It would be Eliot Spencer,” Nate says and nods abruptly.

Toby shrugs. “I guess we’re going to prison,” he quips as Cath sprints ahead of them.

It’s dark by the time she reaches the gate, but a light blares at her from one of the guard towers so brightly Cath has to shut her eyes. When she opens them, Nico is opening the front gate for her and Kate is talking to someone over her radio with a huge smile on her face. Lucy comes running down the gravel path a few minutes later with Daryl watching her back, and seeing her best friend again before she throws her arms around her neck feels like coming home.

There’s a blonde woman Cath has never seen before who rappels out of the tower by the outer gatehouse to hug Sophie and Nate, and a man with long hair who grins like a wolf among his pack. Toby hugs Lucy and introduces her to them before the mastermind introduces him to Parker and Eliot. Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and hands Lucy her cane, squinting at Cath in the dark and smiling at her as his shoulders hunch self-consciously.

“So you’re still together?” Cath asks and slips an arm into the crook of her best friend’s elbow as Lucy hobbles up the gravel path to unlock the inner gate for them.

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound, “but a lot of things have changed since the farm.”

“Such as?” Cath wants to know.

Lucy shrugs as Daryl goes to open the door to the cell blocks for them. “I thought you died because of Rick,” she mumbles, “and because I didn’t trust my instincts. I called for a vote and I’ve been the leader of the group for eight months.”

Cath arches her eyebrows at that. “Seriously?” she asks. “I thought you didn’t want to lead.”

Lucy shrugs again, one-shouldered. “I didn’t,” she answers matter-of-factly. “I still don’t, but I think my reluctance actually makes me better at this whole leadership thing than someone who gets off on being in power.”

“I’m not as surprised by that as I probably should be,” Cath tells her, “you’ve always been your best under pressure.”

Lucy cocks her head in concession as they walk into the guard station in C block. “I am what I am,” she deadpans.

Beth is keeping an eye on Carl while Sophia and Duane help them look after his nameless baby sister. T-Dog, Morgan, Carol, Jacqui, Oscar, and Axel are on watch in the guard towers with Kate, Nico, Alec, Parker, Eliot, and Anton because six guard towers means six people on watch during the day and twelve on double-duty at night. Gilda, Gert, Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl all have watch in the morning before another day of work begins. Rick was supposed to take watch with the archer, but that’s not happening now.

Lucy flops into a seat at the table in the guard station and props her cane against the stone wall behind her. Cath and Toby sit at the table across from her while Sophie walks in like she owns the place, radiant and confident in a way that belongs to someone who made a living out of faking it until she made it. Nate stares at Lucy until she cocks her head owlishly and forces herself to meet his eyes, unflinching. Daryl scrutinizes the strangers while he goes to stand behind his girlfriend and folds his sinewy arms in a way that makes the lean muscles of his biceps flex. Any of the tension that might’ve bloomed is blotted out by the exhaustion that hangs over everyone in the room.

“So,” Nate says, “you’re the person in charge here.”

Lucy muffles a yawn in the hollow of her palm. “I am,” she informs him.

“You’re a little young for that,” Sophie says mildly.

“Lucy didn’t take power,” Glenn says. “We voted for her.”

“I didn’t,” Parker interjects from the perch, “but she saved Alec’s life the day we met her, and that was good enough for me.”

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips. “Look,” she says, “I get that you’re trying to suss me out because you’re a criminal mastermind and that’s what you do, but it’s been a long day. We’re burying a woman who died in childbirth this afternoon in the morning. Anything you have to tell me can wait until after her funeral.”

“Lori died?” Cath asks.

“Yes,” Hershel tells her sadly, “of a complication from her pregnancy.”

“What about my sister?” Amy wants to know. “What happened to Andrea?”

Cath frowns at that. “Andrea is alive,” she hedges, “but she’s not safe.”

“There’s a town,” Toby says, “two miles from here. Woodbury. That’s where we’ve been since it was founded six months ago.”

Daryl squints at him, scrutinizing. “Woodbury’s over in Meriweather County,” he says brusquely, “down near Greenville. Which is thirty miles south of here.”

“I guess the Governor named his Woodbury after that place,” Toby postulates, “he founded a township to bring in survivors and walled off three city blocks from Jefferson Street to Perry Street. There are seventy-four people—”

“Actually,” Nate interjects, “seventy now that we’ve defected, sixty-nine if Michonne left.”

“Wait,” Alec holds up one hand to get his attention, “Michonne’s alive?”

* * *

After that, everyone starts talking all at once about the possibility of a post-apocalyptic town and rescuing Andrea from it and if Michonne got the hell out of dodge so the conversation derails like a train crashing. Lucy eventually screams internally and bangs the handle of her cane against the metal tabletop to quiet everyone down. “Okay,” she bites out, “that’s enough. Nate, Sophie, I want you to give me all of the information you have on Woodbury and its Governor tomorrow morning. Anton, you can go to the safehouse tomorrow to gather the supplies Toby stockpiled and see if Michonne ended up there. Amy, I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you see your sister again. I just need to know what we’re up against before I make any plans. Alec, that’s where you come in.”

“I don’t know if flying a drone over there is safe,” Alec says, “that could put Andrea and Michonne in danger.”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “I agree,” she informs him, “that’s why I need you to think of another way to see what’s going on with Woodbury without endangering our people.”

“I can do that,” Alec says and gives her a brilliant grin before he climbs up the stairs to the perch in the guard station and walks Parker back outside to the guard tower where Eliot is still on watch.

Nate gives him a digital camera that contains snaps of the Governor’s record books and Milton’s research journals. “I think our fearless leader needs to see this,” he says. It doesn’t really bother him to give up control of his crew because he thought they were dead for months and he always wanted out—he just didn’t expect the zombie apocalypse to catapult him into early retirement. What he knows how to do is work the system, and that system no longer exists. Sophie is here; Eliot and Parker and Hardison— _Alec_ , he tells himself—are here. Nothing else matters.

Lucy cocks her head owlishly and looks at the camera. “If you open the images in Photoshop,” she says, “use LZMA for lossless compression. It’s the encoder we used at Mizzou to digitize archival material from Special Collections.”

Alec nods, a quick bob of his head. “It’s a variant of LZ77 dictionary compression algorithms, right?” he asks.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound, “only LZMA uses a complex range encoder that’s bit-based instead of byte-based for more dynamic programming.”

“Let me guess,” Sophie cuts in, “you’re a librarian.”

“Yup,” Lucy echoes and muffles her umpteenth yawn in the palm of her hand, “and you’re an actress.”

Sophie beams at her. “I’m a great actress,” she says, “and an excellent thief.”

“Hey,” Cath ekes the _ey_ sound out awkwardly and takes Lucy aside as Glenn unlocks the door to let Nate and Sophie into C block. “There’s one more thing you should know…”

* * *

Lucy and Daryl have nested in the circulation room of the library, with their clothes in the closet that was full of office supplies and piles of crossbow bolts and materials for making arrowheads on a desk in one corner and stacks of books all over the floor—it’s beginning to feel like home, and that feeling is dangerous because it means they’ve got something to lose.

“There ain’t just another group of survivors holed up somewhere around here,” Daryl says and strips out of his vest and shirt as Lucy props her cane against the wall of their makeshift bedroom and unlaces her boots. “It’s a whole damn town full of people. No wonder all those neighborhoods we scavenged were picked clean.”

Lucy hums softly as she tosses her socks in the laundry basket next to the door and shimmies out of her leggings. “Toby wouldn’t’ve left Woodbury if the town was safe,” she says before she pulls her dress up over her head, “especially not after he found out Cath was alive.”

“There’s gotta be somethin’ wrong with the place,” Daryl mutters while he watches her fumble with the clasp of her bra and moves to undo the hooks with his deft fingers to stop her from hurting her arthritic wrist, “but we can’t do nothin’ about it tonight.”

Lucy exhales a needful sound through her nose as Daryl hunches to hold her with his whole body and splays his fingers over her flabby stomach while he nuzzles her neck, his beard and stubble rough against her skin where his mouth is soft. Until he nips at the hyperbola where her neck meets her shoulder and sucks a bruise into the pale freckled curve of her clavicle. Lucy shuts her eyes and moans softly at the scrape of his teeth over the pulse thumping wildly in her throat. “Wait,” she whispers and takes his other hand in both of hers to squeeze his fingers, “I have something that I need to tell you.”

Daryl squints at her as she extricates herself from his arms to hobble over to their bed with an unreadable look on her plump face. “What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asks.

Lucy flops onto the edge of the bed and gnaws on the inside of her cheek before she looks up into his eyes. “Nothing,” she murmurs. “Your brother is alive, Daryl. Merle is alive.”


	14. Awakening

**to live in this world**  
**you must be able**  
**to do three things:**  
**to love what is mortal;**  
**to hold it**  
**against your bones knowing**  
**your own life depends on it;**  
**and, when the time comes to let it go,**  
**to let it go.**

Mary Oliver, “In Blackwater Woods”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 14**  
Awakening

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Rick spends the night locked in a cell talking to dead people on a phone they disconnected from its cord. Jim is someone he never got a chance to know voice and he didn’t recognize his voice at first, but hearing Shane on the other end of the line makes him start to think that something is horribly wrong with him. Lori is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep, her voice in his ears a beautiful lie that he desperately wants to believe. Lucy unlocks his cell in the morning and shuffles inside, her cane making hollow sounds against the floor. Rick looks at her with his eyes rimmed in red and raw from shedding tears. “How is everyone?” he rasps. “Has anyone been checking on Carl?”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Morgan let him and Duane have a sleepover,” she informs him, “he thought maybe they should talk since they’re both in the Dead Mom Club now.”

“Aren’t we all?” Rick asks mournfully.

Lucy shrugs, one-shouldered. “I got an email from my mother in the second week of the global outbreak,” she tells him softly, “private military contractors from out of state went to ground zero in California in a doomed attempt to stop the spread of the disease and before they were overrun, they sent her pictures of her children, her grandchildren, her sisters and their children, all dead. Morty and Puck, my older brothers. Anise and Nora, my sisters-in-law. Erin, Spenser, Warren, and Westley, my niece and nephews. Eve, Bex, and Jemma, my aunts. Vaughn, David, and Buster, my uncles—”

Rick covers his mouth to stifle a huff of hysterical laughter. “Your uncles were named Dave and Buster?” he asks incredulously.

Lucy rolls her eyes at him. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound, “and I had to look at pictures of them with bullet holes in their foreheads because my mother was so squeamish that she couldn’t even watch a trailer for a horror movie without having nightmares for a week. Margot—my favorite cousin—and her wife Josie had two daughters who hadn’t even started kindergarten, and they died along with my other cousins and second cousins. I still have no idea what happened to my parents, or my older sister and her husband, or my younger brother and his wife. I may never know if they’re alive or dead,” she fizzles out on the morbid word and swallows thickly before she adds, “but I can’t dwell on that. I carry it with me every day, but I don’t let it stop me from living my life and keeping all of you alive.”

“I’m not like you,” Rick snaps at her, “I can’t just force myself to stop feeling the pain of what I’ve lost.”

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “I do feel it,” she tells him softly, “but I’ve done the not getting out of bed for months thing,” she flicks her gaze to the brace on her wrist and flails her hand at her cane, “and the crippling depression thing in the literal and figural sense of the phrase. I’m not doing that again. I can tell you from experience that it doesn’t help anyone. I’m giving you one day to mourn your wife, but after that you need to get your shit together. Lori wouldn’t want you down here wallowing in your grief alone while someone else takes care of your children—”

“That little girl…” Rick clenches his jaw and gnashes his teeth around the words. “That little girl isn’t mine.”

Lucy scoffs. “Rick, of course she is,” she retorts, “and don’t act like you didn’t have a choice in that. After you found out your best friend was screwing your wife because they both thought you were dead, you chose to stay with her instead of walking away in spite of how unhappy your marriage was pre-apocalypse. Lori told me that you said her baby was yours too,” she clenches her fist around the handle of her cane until her knuckles go white, “don’t you dare go back on your word now, you fucking _coward_.”

Rick deflates like a popped balloon and slumps with the dead phone in his hands as he looks down at the floor. “I can’t do this without them,” he whispers, “of course Lori, but Shane too. He was my best friend since junior high. He was there at the hospital with us when Carl was born. He was the one I talked to when things were bad. I loved him,” he says in a broken hush and clings to the phone with clenched fists. “I loved _her_ , but I couldn’t put us back together. I thought I could. I even made a deal with myself. I thought if I could just find a place, I could keep them alive. Lori, Carl, the baby…I thought we’d have more time to fix everything. I don’t know how to do this alone.”

Lucy shuffles over to sit on the bed next to him and takes the phone out of his hands. “Who said you had to do it alone?” she asks. “After everything we’ve been through, we might not like each other very much, but we’re still a family. Our group is dysfunctional and complicated sometimes, but what family isn’t?” she smiles at him shyly before she adds, “what matters is that we’re not alone because we have each other.”

Rick looks at her and his face crumples into a sob that shudders through his whole body. Lucy awkwardly pats him on the back and bites her bottom lip to muffle a shriek as the former sheriff pulls her into a crushing hug. After the moment of panic ebbs, she exhales with enough force to flap her lips and pokes his back in warning until he stops trying to cry on her shoulder. Rick sniffles and wipes at the snot running out of his nose. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I forgot that you don’t like being touched.”

Lucy exhales a soft whoosh of air. “It’s time for Lori’s funeral,” she informs him as she uses her cane to get back on her feet. “Morgan is going to take you to the showers and wait outside with a change of clothes. I’m trusting you not to drown your sorrows,” she adjusts her glasses and forces herself to look him in the eyes before she adds, “your daughter doesn’t have a name yet, Rick. I don’t think you have any business dying before you have a chance to give her one.”

* * *

Rick almost falls to pieces all over again at the sight of Cath attending the funeral, but he keeps it together once someone tells him that she isn’t a figment of his grieving process. After his father gives the eulogy, Carl stays to dictate the epitaph Daryl carves into the tree by the bridge that branches out over above the ground where they buried his mother.

“Y’know,” Daryl murmurs while he digs the blade of his hunting knife into the rough bark, “my mom, she liked her wine, and she liked t’ smoke in bed. Virginia Slims. I was playin’ out with the kids in the neighborhood, ’cause I could do that with Merle gone…they had bikes. I didn’t. When we heard the sirens gettin’ louder, they jumped on their bikes and rode after it, hopin’ t’ see somethin’ worth seein’. I tried runnin’ after ’em, but I couldn’t keep up. When I ran around the corner, I saw my friends lookin’ at me. Hell, I saw everybody lookin’ at me. Firetrucks were everywhere. People from the neighborhood. It was my house they were there for,” he says and swallows hard at the memory. “It was my mom in bed, burnt down t’ nothin’, and that was the hard part. Y’know, she was just gone…erased…nothin’ left of her. People said it was better that way. I dunno,” he snorts and snaps his knife back into the sheath on his belt, “just made it seem like it wasn’t real. Y’know?”

“I shot my mom,” Carl tells him grimly, “she was out. Hadn’t turned yet. I ended it,” he looks out from under the brim of the sheriff’s hat with a soft hitch in his voice and says, “it was real.” Then he looks down at the dirt underfoot before he adds, “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“I’m sorry about yours,” Daryl says gruffly.

Carl smiles at him sadly before they walk back across the bridge to the dirt road that leads to the front gate. Daryl unlocks the inner gate and hauls it shut behind them before he goes to where he knows Lucy is: the library. Toby borrowed a rig to bring Cath and Anton out to his safehouse—a repurposed musical instrument shop located a mile away from the prison—so Nate and Sophie are telling Lucy everything she wants and needs to know about Woodbury. Daryl is surprised to see Rick in the room dressed in clothes devoid of blood splatter and standing behind Lucy in a show of loyalty with his newborn daughter—whom he named Judith—in his arms. Whatever she said to him earlier must’ve snapped the former sheriff out of his psychotic break from reality.

“Woodbury has sixty-nine citizens,” Nate says, “but only a third of them are able-bodied adults.”

Sophie nods, succinctly. “Most are children who either lost their parents or arrived with their families,” she adds, “or they’re elderly. Anyone who dies of natural causes is asked to donate their body to science, as subjects for Dr. Mamet’s research into the cognitive function of zombies.”

Lucy shakes her head slowly. “What he’s studying is a dead end,” she murmurs, “zombies don’t have cognitive function beyond the parts of the brain that control basic motor function and some autonomic function.”

Sophie eyes the laptop on the desk in front of the librarian. “I assume you have proof of that?” she asks.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound. “Dr. Candace Jenner, the woman who discovered the HZV pathogen before the disease went global, was infected while she was trying to make a vaccine using the attenuated live virus. I have archival footage of her death and reanimation if you want to see it,” she taps her laptop with her fingers before she adds, “I also happen to have all the research the C. D. C. and the World Health Organization were doing on the virus before the power grid failed and communications were shut down. Which is what I’ve been using as the basis for my own research into the immunology of those infected. I’ve compiled data from case studies of every bite I’ve survived and everyone I’ve either transfused as a temporary measure to prevent a fatal immunoresponse to the virus or made permanently immune.”

Eliot narrows his eyes at the scars on her forearms. “How many times were you bitten?” he wants to know.

“Four,” Lucy informs him, “but three of those were on purpose, either for science or for saving lives.”

“How many people have you made permanently immune?” Nate asks.

“Four,” Lucy answers. “Beth, Alec, and Andre with transfusions and Daryl with sex.”

Sophie glances from the flush on her cheeks to the shit-eating grin the redneck is trying and failing spectacularly to hide. “How exactly does that work?” she wants to know.

“There are five different kinds of antibodies in your system,” Lucy explains, “IgA antibodies are in your mucosa—your sweat, your saliva, your tears, your genital secretions. Daryl and I…” she bites her lip and blushes harder, “…we’ve been together for almost nine months now. After six months of repeated exposure to the antibodies that I secrete, his body was able to replicate my immunoresponse to the zombie virus. Which is not dying of viral hemorrhagic fever that cooks your brain.”

“I’m also immune,” Rick says, “but Lucy didn’t cure me. I have the same natural immunity to the virus that she does. I’m just not a scientist or a universal donor.”

“Dr. Mamet isn’t just trying to cure the zombie virus,” Sophie says, “the Governor wants him to find a way to reverse the process of zombification altogether.”

Lucy scoffs. “That’s physically impossible,” she says flatly, “this isn’t like a horror movie with a caveat that killing the werewolf who bit you will magically stop you from becoming a werewolf ever again. There’s no way to reverse decomposition, and even if you could find a way to bring a dead person back to their body, you’d be condemning them to life as a rotting corpse.”

“What about my brother?” Daryl asks brusquely to break the horrified silence that ensues. “I wanna know everythin’ you think you know about him.”

Nate cocks his head and narrows his eyes at the archer. “Merle is one of the Governor’s right-hand men,” he says.

“Which is ironic,” Sophie cuts in, “because Merle doesn’t actually have a right hand.”

Rick winces as Daryl glares at him. “I cuffed him to a metal pipe on a rooftop in Atlanta,” he says, “he cut his own hand off before we came back for him the next morning.”

“Merle has been complicit in the murders of over a dozen people that we know of,” Nate continues. “There’s a list of names in one of Governor’s notebooks. Sophie went snooping around his office and found several of their zombified heads in fish tanks in a secret room in his apartment.”

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek as she lets that sink in. It doesn’t come as a surprise to her that Merle is killing people in cold blood; he was a soldier pre-apocalypse and he ostensibly found someone he wanted to take orders from in the man who calls himself the Governor. It’s safe to assume that he’s a white man with authority, and Merle wouldn’t question orders that came from someone like him. It doesn’t stop Daryl from looking stricken by the news, though; and seeing him crestfallen makes her heart ache.

Alec walks into the library at that inopportune moment and puts a USB drive shaped like an alligator on the desk in front of her. “I finished encoding those image files,” he informs her, “you should be able to read through all of the information Nate and Sophie brought us now.”

Lucy plugs it into one of the ports on the side of her laptop. “Thank you,” she tells him. “Let’s hope the shit doesn’t hit the fan before I have a chance to formulate a contingency plan using that information.”

Famous last words.


	15. Burning Up

**You work with what you are given,**  
**the red clay of grief,**  
**the black clay of stubbornness going on after;**  
**clay that tastes of care or carelessness,**  
**clay that smells of the bottoms of rivers or dust.**

 **Each thought is a life you have lived or failed to live.**  
**Each word is a dish you have eaten or left on the table.**  
**There are honeys so bitter no one would willingly choose to take them—**  
**the clay takes them: honey of weariness, honey of vanity,**  
**honey of cruelty, fear.**

Jane Hirshfield, “Rebus”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 15**  
Burning Up

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_48 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

After the funeral, Glenn and Maggie go out to scavenge lead sheeting from the batteries of the abandoned cars on the highway because someone needs to replenish the supply that was depleted from all of the ammo the group has been reloading—and as fun as stolen moments in guard towers and unoccupied prison cells are, these days nothing beats spending time alone together. It’s a luxury most people in the post-apocalyptic wasteland can’t afford.

There’s a Kroger about half a mile away from the prison next to an outlet store, and Glenn drives the Silverado into the empty parking lot so they can find some toys for Andre and Judith. Maggie taps her earpiece to turn it off so they can make some time in one of the changing rooms and it ends up in the pocket of her jeans. Glenn puts his earpiece in his back pocket and forgets to turn it back on.

“It’s a straight shot back to the prison from here,” Glenn says as they load their haul of lead sheeting and wheel weights into the trunk, “we’ll probably make it in time for dinner.”

Maggie gives him a lopsided smile that makes his heart stop for a fraction of a second. “I like the quiet,” she says. “There aren’t a lot of places we can be alone back home.”

“Where exactly is it y’all good people are callin’ home?” an eerily familiar voice asks.

Glenn draws his gun and turns to see Merle pointing a Walther P99 at them. It’s the same gun Kate always carries, but if anything had happened to her Lucy would’ve gotten through to Glenn on the radio to warn him that Merle was around. Maggie keeps her SIG-Sauer P226 aimed at his head while he puts the pistol on the ground. “Hey,” she snaps at him as he holds up his arms in mock surrender and starts to move towards them, “back the hell up!”

Merle doesn’t back the hell up. “Okay,” he says and grins at her in a way he seems to think is charming but is actually all kinds of menacing. “Okay, honey.”

Glenn keeps his Glock 19 aimed at the redneck. “I can’t believe you made it,” he says.

Merle nods brusquely. “Hey,” he says, “can you tell me, is my brother alive?”

Glenn swallows hard before he answers. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Merle says, “you take me to him, and I’ll call it even on everythin’ that happened up there in Atlanta. No hard feelings.”

Glenn has to clench his jaw to stop himself from gaping at the audacity of that. Sure, the guy lost a hand, but first he hurled a racist slur at T-Dog and beat the crap out of him and Morales. If anyone here is to blame for what happened on that rooftop, it’s Merle.

“You like that?” Merle drawls as Maggie eyes the flecks of congealed blood on the blade attached to his gauntlet. “I found myself a medical supply warehouse. Fixed it up myself. Pretty cool, huh?”

“We’ll tell Daryl you’re here,” Glenn says impassively, “and he’ll come out to meet you.”

“Hold on,” Merle says. “Hold up. Hey, the fact that we found each other is a miracle. C’mon now. You can trust me.”

Glenn shakes his head. “You trust us,” he retorts. “You stay here.”

Which is all it takes to make things go from bad to worse. Merle breaks the rear windshield with a crash of shattering glass and draws a .45 caliber pistol from where it was holstered behind his back. Glenn runs around the car and finds the redneck with an arm around Maggie’s throat, the muzzle of his Colt biting into her cheek.

“Hey,” Merle says in warning as Maggie claws at his gauntlet and grits his teeth in pain as the scar tissue underneath twinges. “Hold up, buddy. Hold the fuck up.”

“Let go of her,” Glenn snarls at him. “Let go of her!”

“Put the gun in the car right now,” Merle snarls back. “Put it in the car, son.”

Glenn clicks the safety on before he puts his Glock in the back of the Silverado. Maggie goes still and tries not to squirm because Merle is the kind of guy that wants her scared, and she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. None of them notice the woman crouching behind a minivan with the bullet hole in her thigh oozing blood onto the pavement.

“There ya’ go,” Merle says. “Now we’re gonna go for a little drive.”

“We’re not going back to our camp,” Glenn says.

“No,” Merle agrees. “We’re goin’ somewhere else,” he says and hauls Maggie to her feet and shoves her into the passenger seat before he adds, “get in the car, Glenn. You’re drivin’.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Lucy spends most of her morning reading through the record books kept by the so-called Governor of Woodbury. There’s a tally he took on a chunk of pages, counting the days since the beginning of the global outbreak. It’s eerie how similar his record books are to her own notebooks, with lists and notes in the margins and random thoughts inked on paper. Lucy doesn’t want to feel any kinship with a man who, by all accounts, is suffering from narcissistic personality disorder so profoundly that he built an entire town around his ego; but it’s difficult not to see the similarities in their approach to leadership with the private thoughts in his little black book on the screen of her laptop in front of her.

 _I’m nothing like him_ , she tells herself. _I don’t keep secrets from my people and tell myself it’s for their own good. I’d never experiment on them without their consent or murder them in cold blood if they wanted to leave. I don’t want my people to live in fear_.

Still, he’s manipulative—like her; he’s studious—like her; he’s meticulous—like her; he’s trying to cure the zombie virus—like her; and he seems to understand the difference between living and surviving. Lucy can’t help but feel an odd sense of similarity with him and it’s freaking her the fuck out.

“Hey,” Daryl says gruffly and snickers as she yelps because she didn’t hear him walk in. “I brought ya’ dinner,” he drawls and leans against the side of the desk to put a plate next to her laptop, “’cause I know ya’ forget t’ eat when ya’ do shit like this.”

Lucy smiles at him shyly and flicks her gaze to plate with the sandwich he must’ve made for her and a pile of potato chips on the side. “I’ve never done this kind of shit,” she murmurs, “this is the kind of shit people do during wartime: looking at intel on their enemies.”

Daryl squints down at her, scrutinizing. “We ain’t at war,” he says.

Lucy shrugs. “No,” she retorts, “but if we go about this the wrong way, we will be. Why do you think I won’t let you go out looking for Merle? Woodbury has assault rifles, armored vehicles, guardsmen trained by army veterans, and even though a significant portion of their population consists of children and the elderly, they outnumber us three to one. Worse, an attack on their compound would have casualties because the children and the elderly would get caught in the crossfire. I’m not going to risk hurting or killing innocent people to rescue someone who doesn’t even think he needs saving.”

“What about my sister?” Amy asks as she walks in and folds her arms tight across her chest. “Merle is a lost cause, but Andrea isn’t. What are we doing to help her?”

Daryl scowls at her. “What,” he snaps, “ya’ think your sister’s worth savin’, but my brother ain’t?”

“Yeah,” Amy snaps back at him, “because my sister isn’t a white supremacist who rode around with a Nazi symbol on his bike—”

“Okay,” Lucy bites out, “that’s enough. Amy, you know Daryl removed the SS bolt on his bike as soon as you told him what it meant to you because you’re Jewish, and picking a fight with him that you already won because you’re worried about your sister isn’t helping anyone.”

“Fine,” Amy huffs. “Sorry.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. “Nah,” he mutters, “y’ain’t got nothin’ t’ apologize for. Merle’s a piece of shit, but he’s still my brother. I know maybe he ain’t worth savin’, but…”

“...but you’ve got to try,” Amy sighs and smiles at him because in spite of everything she knows he’s a better man than his brother even on his worst day. “I get that.”

Lucy takes a bite of her sandwich and eats while that internal conflict resolves itself. “Eliot, Parker, and Alec are doing reconnaissance on Woodbury,” she informs both of them, “and they saw Andrea working as a guardswoman on the wall. No word on Merle yet, but I’ll keep you posted.”

Daryl puts an arm around her shoulders and hunches to kiss her on the cheek before he goes to get back to work on their wall. What she doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt him. Yet.

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Andrea, meanwhile, got kicked off guard duty for going over the wall and ended up between the sheets with the so-called Governor. Philip extricates himself from her at the sound of a knock on the door and sees Merle with a bandage on the bridge of his nose on the other side.

“Company?” the redneck asks.

“Yeah,” Philip tells him before he walks out into the hallway and shuts the door behind him. “What happened out there?”

“We lost all three guys,” Merle says gruffly. “Tim, Crowley, the other one—”

“Gargulio,” Philip corrects him with a sigh. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Merle says, “she cut Tim down, put her sword through him. Then zombies got in the middle. Then I got her.”

“Damn.” Philip swallows thickly as he leans against the brick wall. “Well, we’ll dress it up. Give ’em a heroes’ funeral and you’ll tell a story, a supply run gone sideways…” he leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “…do you have ’em? Michonne’s head, the sword?”

“Um,” Merle falters and shakes his head. “We got caught in a crowd,” he says, “the kid had the head, Crowley had the sword, and they both got all tore up. I got somethin’ else for ya’, though,” he adds as the other man glowers at him, “a guy I used to know from the Atlanta camp and his cute little girlfriend.”

“So they know Andrea?” Philip wants to know.

Merle hums his answer, a soft _mm-hmm_.

“Anyone else?” Philip asks.

Merle shrugs. “I dunno,” he mutters. “I found ’em on the return trip, but from the looks of ’em they gotta be set up pretty good. I’ll find out where.”

Philip watches him walking down the hallway with a niggling feeling in his gut that something is about to go horribly wrong, but he shakes it off and opens the door to his apartment where Andrea is naked and waiting for him with a smile on her face.

Today is a good day, or so he thinks.

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Michonne has been having the worst day. First, she left Woodbury and waited in the gazebo all night in case Andrea changed her mind instead of just walking to the safehouse where Cath had told her they would meet if she got out alive. Then she woke up with a start at the sound of the gate opening to see Merle and three other goons coming to hunt her down. After she eluded them in the woods and cut two of them down with her sword, the redneck put a bullet in her thigh and she got covered in zombie blood and guts. Hell, she could be infected right now and she wouldn’t know it until it was already too late. Then, because the bullet in her leg was slowing her down, Merle tracked her to Merchant’s Crossing and found two other people instead of her: an Asian guy, and a green-eyed white girl. Michonne eavesdropped on their conversation about a prison and watched them get taken hostage while she bled on the pavement, helpless.

There’s a federal prison on Bullsboro Drive, half a mile away from the county jail. West Georgia Correctional, where her brother was incarcerated pre-apocalypse. Michonne scoops up the basket of toys the Asian guy dropped and walks up the highway as Merle drives in the opposite direction. Strangely enough, none of the shambling zombies on the highway seem to notice her because of the blood and viscera caked on her body. When she passes out in front of the gate, the last thing Michonne sees is her brother on the other side of the fence and she doesn’t care if she’s dreaming or even dying if that means she gets to see him again.

Only it’s not a dream, and her day is going to get better as soon as she wakes up. Unfortunately, other things are about to get so much worse.


	16. A Touch of Evil

**It’s too much:**  
**to see someone who’s had everything**  
**taken and is still**  
**more alive in their body than you.**

Sam Sax, “Lost Things”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 16**  
A Touch of Evil

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

After they arrive at the township of Woodbury, a goon shoves Glenn into a cluttered room while another takes Maggie into the room next door. Merle goes to report to the Governor before he enters the makeshift interrogation room to prowl like a mangy predator and scrapes the blade attached to his gauntlet on the table in front of his prisoner. “You don’t even know why you’re here, do you?” he asks as Glenn stares at him impassively. “I didn’t mean you no harm. I lowered my gun, but you raised yours. You were an asshole out there, just like you were on that rooftop back there in Atlanta. What y’all did, leaving me t’ die up there…” he says and gnashes his teeth around the words, “…people wouldn’t do that t’ an animal.”

“We went back for you,” Glenn says through clenched teeth.

Merle scoffs. “Well,” he drawls, “ain’t you thoughtful.”

“We did,” Glenn retorts, “all of us. Lucy, Daryl, Rick, T-Dog—”

“T-Dog,” Merle snorts. “Yeah, big ol’ spearchucker, the one I was pleadin’ with, the one that dropped the key. Why don’t ya’ tell me where he’s at? I’m sure T-Dog would like t’ bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones.”

Glenn has to swallow the anger that slices through him at the sound of the racial slur. It looks like Merle is still incapable of taking responsibility for escalating the situation on that rooftop until Rick had no choice but to restrain him. T-Dog hadn’t dropped the key on purpose, but Glenn wouldn’t have blamed him even if he’d thrown the key down the drain and left the door unchained so the zombies could eat the redneck who beat the crap out of him alive. Merle was a racist asshole then, and he’s a racist asshole now. _I didn’t mean you no harm, my ass_ , he thinks.

“How about my baby brother?” Merle asks as he sits on top of the table. “You can’t tell me he’s alive and then hold off on where he is.”

Glenn slants his gaze to an oil painting in an ornate gold frame instead of answering the question. All he has to do is keep Merle talking to him long enough for Lucy to figure out they’ve been taken, pinpoint their location using the RDF system in Alec’s control room, and come looking for them. It’s only a matter of time.

“No?” Merle says. “Well, maybe the farmer’s daughter’ll help me out…” he grins at that and it takes everything Glenn has to keep his face expressionless, “…tell me somethin’,” he murmurs. “When she’s scared, and she’s holdin’ you close, and her tremblin’ skin is close t’ you…” Glenn exhales in a sharp gust of air as Merle slants the blade attached to his gauntlet so the edge digs into his cheek, “and her soft lips are touchin’ you here,” he drags the blade down his neck and gets dangerously close to the major arteries under his skin, “all over here, and over here, it feels good, don’t it?”

Glenn swallows around the lump of fear caught in his throat and says nothing. _It’s only a matter of time_ , he tells himself.

“I remember you,” Merle says and skims the blade up the side of his neck to his jaw. “You’re the sneaky one, the one with nerve. You don’t scare easy, do you?” he smirks and digs the blade into the bruise on his cheek. “I like that,” he murmurs before he moves to stand behind Glenn, “now I wanna know where my brother is,” he says and slants the flat of the blade over his mouth so the edge digs into his lips. “I wanna know where the sheriff is.”

Glenn headbutts Merle as the redneck moves back to sit on top of the table. It’s the second time someone has tried to break his nose since that morning, and Merle slams his only hand down on the tabletop as blood spurts and drips into his mouth before he headbutts Glenn right back.

“I wanna know where they’re hidin’,” Merle snarls and punches him in the face, “where you camp is, and I wanna know now. I wanna know now!” he screams and punches him over and over again so hard his knuckles split open. “Where the hell are they?”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After she passes out from blood loss in front of the outermost gate, Axel and Oscar haul it open so Anton can scoop his sister up and take her to the infirmary. Michonne would’ve loathed being carried like a princess, but she’s not in any position to glare daggers at him right now.

“Was she bit?” Hershel asks as Anton lays her on one of the examination chairs.

Amy palpates her thigh to find the source of the bleeding. “It’s a gunshot wound,” she informs him.

“Someone shot my sister?” Anton asks incredulously. “Who would do that?”

“Merle Dixon would,” T-Dog mutters.

“Amy,” Hershel says, “keep pressure on the wound. Carol, get bandages and disinfectant from the first-aid kit. Beth, water and a towel.”

Anton sets her sword and bags on the autopsy table and stands back while the medical professionals do their work.

“I need to draw her blood,” Amy says. “There’s decayed blood and guts all over her. We need to know if she’s been infected with the zombie virus.”

Anton swallows thickly. “You’ll cure her if she is, right?” he asks, “like you did for Andre?”

Amy nods. “Of course,” she answers.

Carol frowns as she wipes away the gore and cleans the wound. “I think the bullet’s still in there,” she says. “We need to surgically remove it.”

Amy nods again, succinctly. “Set up her IV,” she says, “and administer a local anesthetic. Hershel, drape the other autopsy table. There’s no operating room, so I’m going to cut her leg open right here. Anton, you probably shouldn’t see this.”

Anton shakes his head. “I’m staying,” he says. “I don’t want her to wake up surrounded by strangers.”

“Who the hell is that?” Daryl asks him from the doorway.

“Michonne,” Anton says, “my older sister.”

“Guess she made it outta Woodbury alive,” Daryl mutters. “I’m gonna go find Lucy, tell her what’s goin’ on.”

Amy looks up from the microscope in on corner and glances back at him over her shoulder. “Michonne’s infected,” she says, “tell Lucy we’re going to give her a transfusion.”

“Sure,” Daryl says gruffly before he turns on his heels and walks out of the infirmary. When he walks into the library, he sees Lucy dozed off with her face nestled in the crook of her elbow; her glasses are folded up next to her laptop, and Cath must’ve come and done her hair in a loose fishtail braid for her sometime that afternoon since her hair had been in a messy bun that morning. It makes him smile to see the owl inked on the nape of her neck peeking out at him while he hunches to give her shoulder a gentle shake.

Lucy muffles a groan in the crook of her elbow and squints at him in a way that scrunches up her whole face because she’s blind as a bat without her glasses on. “Hey,” she rasps, “did the shit hit the fan while I was sleeping?”

Daryl shakes his head slowly. “Nah,” he says, “but Michonne found her way here and she’s infected. Amy and Hershel are givin’ her your blood and takin’ a bullet outta her leg right now.”

Lucy puts her glasses on and nuzzles the back of his hand as his fingers reflexively squeeze her shoulder. When she kisses his knuckles, he puts his other hand on her face to tilt her chin up so he can slant his lips over hers. Daryl kisses her soft and sweet and slow—like they have all the time in the world even at the end of the world. Lucy hooks an arm around his neck to tangle her fingers in his hair and kisses him back desperately, trying to shake the feeling taking root deep in her gut that something is horribly wrong.

“Medusa,” Gert chimes in over the radio, “something’s wrong. Pizzaman and Farmgirl aren’t back yet.”

Lucy frowns, the space between her eyebrows furrowing. “Vulcan,” she says, “pinpoint their location. I want to know where they are.”

“Gimme a sec,” Alec says while he activates their RDF system and finds the blips labeled _Glenn_ and _Maggie_ on a map. “I got ’em,” he tells her, “they’re in Woodbury.”

Lucy adjusts her glasses as she tries not to panic. When she tries to contact Glenn and Maggie over the radio, she hears a damnably familiar Southern drawl on the other end of the frequency. “Merle has them,” she says. “Merle took Glenn and Maggie.”

Daryl swallows hard. “We gotta go get ’em,” he says gruffly.

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “I want to talk to Michonne first,” she says, “find out what she knows and come up with a plan. Eliot, did you see a red Silverado drive up?”

“Yeah,” Eliot mutters, “but I wasn’t close enough to see whoever was drivin’. There are paramilitary sentries on every wall, and they’ve got assault rifles with suppressors and scopes on ’em. I haven’t gotten too close to the town ’cause I don’t want ’em to know we’re out here.”

“Okay,” Lucy says. “I want you, Vulcan, and Parker to retreat to the rendezvous point on Bullsboro Drive. We’re going to meet you there in half an hour and go over my extraction plan.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Eliot says before he goes radio silent.

Lucy squares her shoulders and turns to look at Daryl with a grim expression on her plump face. “I’m going to talk to Michonne,” she says, “you assemble the troops. We’re going to war.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Merle sits on top of the table and smirks as Glenn coughs and drools a string of saliva that’s stained red with the blood in his mouth. “I gotta hand it t’ ya’,” he says, “you’re a lot tougher ’n I remember. It’s no surprise ya’ lasted this long. Shoot,” he drawls, “I figured the way Officer Friendly abandoned people, he would’ve left ya’ behind by now…” he glances down at the blood oozing from his own split knuckles and smirks wider, “…but he didn’t do that, did he? So tell me, where y’all been at?”

Glenn swallows the bile rising in his throat and glares at the redneck. “It’s just a matter of time before they come looking,” he bites out.

“I’ll bake a cake with pink frostin’,” Merle snarks back. “Would they like that?” he scoffs and sneers at him before he adds, “ain’t nobody comin’.”

“Lucy is,” Glenn retorts, “and when she gets here—”

“Miss Lucy ain’t gonna do nothin’,” Merle says, “not if she wants you and Bo Peep back. You think I’m in this by myself?”

“You can’t take us all,” Glenn says as he winces at the sharp twinge of pain in his blackened eye. “There’s too many of us.”

“There ain’t a pair of nuts between the whole pussy lot of you,” Merle says.

Glenn clenches his teeth because it hurts to even try to roll his eyes. “We’ve been on the road,” he says, “not hiding in some dungeon. Lucy, Daryl, Rick, T-Dog, Nico, Kate, Cath…”

Merle arches his eyebrows at that. “Really,” he says and ekes the _l_ sound out as his mouth stretches into a terrible grin, “is that right?”

Glenn watches the redneck leave the room as the fear sinks in; the fear of saying the wrong thing and getting Maggie hurt or worse before the cavalry finally arrives, the fear of being unable to protect the woman he loves from the monsters in this world.

 _We are the real monsters_ , Lucy had told him once, _not the zombies. It’s humans who do monstrous things_.

Glenn hadn’t wanted to believe her. Until now.


	17. Dead Meat

**No one looks at you and says _girl_.**  
**They look at you and say _meal_ and expect you**  
**to say _Thank you_. You have to be a tidy feast,**  
**a bloodless slaughter.**

Clementine Von Radics, “Explaining Girlhood to a Boy Who Has Never Been There”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 17**  
Dead Meat

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Merle brings one of the zombies they caught in their pit traps into the room where Glenn is being held prisoner and sets it loose on him before he goes to report back to the Governor, who’s outside in the motor pool talking to Martinez.

“So,” Philip says, “they know Andrea.”

Merle nods. “But as far as I can tell,” he says, “they don’t know she’s here.”

“But they do know your brother,” Philip retorts and narrows his eyes at the redneck suspiciously. If his long-lost brother shows up at their gate, that could be a problem.

Merle nods again. “He does,” he says. “I don’t know about her. I’ve never seen her before.”

“Their people may come for them,” Philip murmurs.

“Maybe,” Merle says before he adds, “the kid and Andrea both say they went back for me.”

“So what?” Philip asks in a harsh tone of voice that sounds like a slap in the face before he forces himself to simmer down. “He won’t break, say where his people are?”

Merle shakes his head. “Nope,” he mutters.

“He’s a tough son of a bitch,” Martinez interjects. “He picked that zombie apart in minutes.”

“Maybe a winter in the sticks put some hair on his balls,” Merle says.

“We’ll need him for leverage if his people come,” Martinez points out. “What’d you try to kill him for?”

Merle shrugs. “He pissed me off,” he says and gnashes his teeth around the words.

“What’s the girl say?” Philip wants to know.

“I was just about t’ go talk t’ her next,” Merle informs him.

“No need,” Philip says ominously. “I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Michonne opens her eyes to see a bespectacled girl with sallow freckled skin and a pair of .38 Special revolvers holstered to the wide belt around her waist looking back at her. “Where am I?” she asks in a rasp as she slants her gaze to where her katana is waiting on the autopsy table.

“West Georgia Correctional,” Lucy informs her.

Michonne sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Anton sitting in a chair next to her and she stops breathing altogether at the sight of Alec holding Andre. “That’s my brother,” she whispers. “That’s my _son_. How…?”

Alec folds himself onto a stool and plops the toddler in her arms. “Parker and I got him the hell out of the refugee center after Mike and Terry amplified,” he explains as she squeezes her eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop herself from shedding any tears. “We tried to come back for you, but the city was chock-full of zombies.”

Parker nods and hops up onto the counter, swinging her feet. “Alec and Andre both got infected with the airborne strain of the zombie virus six months ago,” she adds. “Lucy saved their lives.”

Michonne narrows her eyes at the bespectacled woman as she tries not to hold her son too tight and inhales smell of baby powder and cloying sweetness in his hair. “You’re Lucy,” she deduces. “Cath’s friend. You’re immune.”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound, “and I’m sorry to interrogate you in the aftermath of minor surgery, but my people are in big trouble and I need to know everything you know about that.”

“Your people,” Michonne says as she tries and fails to stifle a smile as Andre gurgles and sucks on one of her fingers. “You mean the young Asian guy I saw, with a pretty girl.”

Hershel frowns, worry etched into every line of his face. “What happened?” he asks, “were they attacked?”

“No,” Michonne answers, “they were taken by the same son of a bitch who shot me.”

“Where?” Beth wants to know.

“There’s a town,” Michonne tells her. “Woodbury. It has about seventy-five survivors.”

Amy sighs. “We know,” she says.

Michonne takes in the corn silk blonde hair in frazzled ringlets, the pale eyes, the button nose, the mermaid pendant around her neck, the Magen David charm dangling from the silver bracelet around her wrist. “You’re Amy,” she murmurs. “Andrea’s sister.”

Amy smiles at her, wide and warm. “You’re dating my sister, right?” she asks.

“I think we broke up,” Michonne says, “she’s got a thing for a man in Woodbury that calls himself the Governor, a pretty boy, Jim Jones type.”

Amy turns to look at Lucy and folds her arms tight across her chest. “We need to get my sister out of there,” she says. “I’ll drag her here myself if I have to.”

“You won’t have to,” Lucy informs her. “We’re going to Woodbury.”

Michonne hands Andre back to her brother and grits her teeth as she rises to her feet. “I’m coming too,” she says sharply. “I have unfinished business with the Governor.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Maggie flinches at the sound of the door creaking open and frowns at the sight of a man that she’s never seen before walking into the room. Merle is who she was expecting; not someone tall, dark, and sinister who stares at her in a way that makes her skin crawl. When he draws a knife, fear shoots down her spine and Maggie shudders as the blade slices through the tape binding her wrists together behind the back of the chair.

“May I?” Philip asks before he takes a seat across the table from her, cordial as any Southern gentleman.

Maggie folds her arms loosely across her chest like she needs a hug and doesn’t respond to that because she knows she doesn’t have any power here and she’s not going to let him lull her into a false sense of security.

“Thank you,” Philip says and folds himself into the chair with a scrape of the legs on the linoleum floor. “We’ll take you back to your people,” he tells her in a coax of a voice with an underlying threat at the edge of his tone, “explain this was all just a misunderstanding. You tell us where they are, and I’ll drive you there myself.”

“I wanna talk to Glenn,” Maggie tells him in the calmest voice that she can muster.

“I can’t allow that,” Philip says flatly. “Your people are dangerous. One of them handcuffed my man to a roof, forced him to amputate his own hand.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Maggie retorts.

“You just tell us where they are,” Philip says as his cordial tone oozes like burnt sugar, “and we’ll bring them here. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Maggie tries not to grimace at him licking his lips and turns to look away from him as her stomach churns in disgust.

“No?” Philip cocks his head and shrugs. “Fine. Let’s try something else,” he says. “Stand up, please.” When she doesn’t do as he says, he leans forward in his seat. “Stand up,” he orders in a violent hush.

Maggie rises to her feet and stares down her nose at him.

“Take off your shirt,” Philip says.

“No,” Maggie tells him.

“Take off your shirt,” Philip says, “or I’ll bring Glenn’s hand in here.”

Maggie swallows the bile in her mouth and strips out of her tank top, tossing it onto the floor.

Philip leans back in his seat and arches his eyebrows at her. “Well,” he says, “go on.”

Maggie reaches behind her to unclasp her bra and being half naked in front of him feels suffocating, like all of the air has been sucked out of her lungs. It’s what she imagines being a firefly in a jar feels like, a spark that’s about to be snuffed out. When he rises to his feet and unbuckles the belt holster around his waist, she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle a helpless sob. It takes everything she has not to throw up all over the table as he skims his fingers up the curve of her back to stroke her hair. Then he puts his hand on the nape of her neck and slams her facedown on top of the table hard enough to startle a scream out of her mouth.

“So,” Philip murmurs with his groin bearing down on her backside and his mouth nauseatingly close to her ear, “are you gonna talk?”

Maggie swallows hard. “No,” she says, “you can do whatever you’re gonna do, and go to hell.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Hershel, Beth, Carol, Sophia, Duane, Carl, Sophie, Nate, and Axel end up staying at the prison to keep watch from the guard towers while Alec runs the mission and pilots their drones from his control room. Lucy clambers into the passenger seat in one of the rigs while Cath, Toby, Kate, T-Dog, Nico, Gert, Gilda, Amy, Jacqui, Rick, Morgan, Anton, Michonne, and Oscar cram themselves inside the trailer.

Daryl climbs into the driver’s seat and squeezes her knee with gentle fingers before he sets his crossbow in the empty space between her legs and the dashboard. “I got the flashbangs and the smoke bombs,” he tells her softly, “ya’ never know what you’re gonna need.”

Lucy plucks anxiously at the bulk of her bulletproof vest. It makes her tits feel awkwardly squashed, like a uniboob in a sports bra. “I’m scared,” she mumbles. “I knew we couldn’t be the only people who formed a post-apocalyptic community and that eventually we might have to fight for what we have or for each other or even to protect me from the kind of people that would lock me up in a cage and commodify my immunity, but I was hoping we would have a chance to settle in before that happened.”

Daryl shrugs. “You’re always sayin’ we gotta hope for the best,” he drawls, “and plan for the worst. You’re pretty damn good at that. Y’ain’t got nothin’ t’ be scared of.”

 _There’s always something to fear_ , Lucy thinks as she overhears the Governor sexually assaulting Maggie on the radio. “What about you?” she asks out loud. “Merle’s the enemy. We might have to—”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. “Lucy,” he growls low in his throat, “ _don’t_. I don’t wanna hear it. Okay, darlin’? Just…” he says and bites down around the consonant, “…don’t.”

“Okay.” Lucy scoots in her seat to kiss his upper arm before she nuzzles the curve of his bare shoulder. “I love you,” she tells him softly.

Daryl inhales deeply through his nose to fill his nostrils with the smell of her hair, the scent of black cherries punctuated by the sweet tang of her sweat. It’s the scent that clings to the sheets on their bed to mingle with his, the smell of _home_. “I love ya’ too,” he says gruffly.

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

After he breaks her, the Governor drags a half-naked Maggie into the room where Merle beat Glenn black and blue. When he sees her with bloodshot eyes and fear all over her face, Glenn almost takes a swing at Merle with the broken chair leg he used to kill the zombie from before until Martinez points his Heckler & Koch MPK5 automatic rifle at her head and he drops the chair leg in defeat.

“We’re through with games,” Philip says and cocks the hammer of his Beretta 92SB 9mm pistol, “and now one of you is going to give up your camp.”

“It’s not a camp,” Maggie blurts out because he aims the pistol at Glenn with his finger on the trigger. “It’s a prison. West Georgia Correctional Facility, on Bullsboro Drive.”

“That place is overrun,” Martinez says dubiously.

“We took it,” Maggie says as her mouth wobbles on the edge of a sob.

“How many are you?” Philip asks her without bothering to withdraw his gun.

“There’s two dozen,” Maggie tells him. “We have two dozen people now.”

“You’re telling me a couple dozen people cleared that whole prison full of zombies?” Philip asks. “Your friend Lucy did that?”

Maggie nods and flinches as the Governor tries to touch her cheek. When he puts his arms around her shoulders and kisses her forehead, she whimpers and squirms until he shoves her at Glenn and leaves them alone together.

Philip slams the door of his office hard enough that Merle winces at the harsh ricochet of sound. “Only two dozen people,” he mutters incredulously.

Milton frowns. “That’s deep in the red zone,” he says, “and the prison complex itself would’ve had over a thousand zombies inside. There’s no way two dozen—”

Philp stops pacing and turns to glare at the mad scientist. “So she’s lying?” he snaps back at him, “because if she’s lying, that means a pretty sizeable force has moved into our backyard,” he turns to glare at Merle, “but if she’s not, this group with your brother and this girl named Lucy at its core has done something you told me couldn’t be done,” he huffs, “they did it, and your brother might be out there right now, searching for them…” he narrows his eyes at Merle before he adds, “…blood is blood, right? Makes me wonder where your loyalties lie.”

Merle swallows hard. “Here,” he says brusquely.

Philip claps him on the shoulder before he turns to Martinez. “I want you to get a small group together and scout this prison,” he says. “I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”


	18. Invader

**Hunted girls**  
**grow shells**  
**and they call us**  
**“hard women.”**

 **As if survival**  
**could ever be delicate.**

Brenna Twohy, “I Guess I’ll Tell It Like This”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 18**  
Invader

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_24 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

Eliot and Parker are waiting at the rendezvous point with a group of three men from Woodbury they apprehended. Apparently they were sent by their so-called Governor to scout the prison. Lucy clambers down out of the semi while everyone else stays in the back of the big rig so their enemies won’t know how many people they’re up against. Eliot is holding a gun on Martinez, one that he probably took out of the other man’s hands before he even knew what had hit him. Parker has twined the string from the recurve bow that belongs to Shumpert around her wrist, a spoil of war.

Martinez narrows his eyes at Lucy, sizing her up. “This is your leader?” he asks dubiously, “she’s just a girl.”

Lucy smiles at him, vicious and caustic. “You aren’t the first man to underestimate me,” she informs him acerbically. “You won’t be the last.”

“I didn’t wanna kill ’em without talkin’ to you first,” Eliot tells her in a harsh tone of voice that makes the younger man named Eisenberg flinch. Lucy knows the hitter is bluffing from everything Alec and Parker told her about him, but these men have no idea that he doesn’t kill people anymore unless he has to.

Lucy shakes her head slowly. “No killing,” she murmurs. “Not yet. Let two of them go,” she orders and slants her gaze to Martinez, “he can be our hostage.”

Parker nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “Their Governor took two of our people,” she points out. “It’s only fair.”

Martinez frowns at her. “How do you know about that?” he asks.

Lucy doesn’t answer him. “I want you to tell your Governor to have my people waiting at the front gate of Woodbury,” she tells Shumpert and Eisenberg. “I want them alive and as unharmed as they were before you delivered my message. Got it?”

Shumpert bobs his head in a quick nod. “Yes,” he says flatly.

“Good,” Lucy retorts before she flicks her gaze to the hitter. “I want you to knock our hostage out,” she orders, “but try not to give him brain damage. Unlike the man who calls himself the Governor, I don’t like breaking people.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Daryl, Amy, Michonne, Oscar, Toby, and Rick sneak off through the forest on foot to infiltrate Woodbury after dark. Michonne has unfinished business with the man who turned her girlfriend against her. Amy wants to find her sister and talk some kind of sense into her. Daryl just wants to see his brother alive with his own eyes. Anything that happens after that is frosting on the cake.

Lucy, meanwhile, drives the semi-truck with an unconscious Martinez bound, gagged, and blindfolded in the passenger seat while Cath, Kate, Nico, T-Dog, Gert, Gilda, Morgan, Jacqui, Parker, Eliot, and Anton ride in the back of the big rig. When she pulls up and stops in front of the front gate of Woodbury, the armed sentries on the wall are locked and loaded with an impressive arsenal of weapons. Unfortunately for them, it’s blatantly obvious to her that the Governor put most of that heavy artillery in the hands of people who don’t know how to use it. Hell, more than half of them are holding their guns in a way that would break their thumbs on the slide as soon as they pulled the trigger.

 _Michonne said they lost three men today because of her_ , Lucy thinks as she taps her earpiece. _I guess the Governor is compensating for that by trying to make his army look more impressive than it actually is_. “Eliot,” she says, “get Martinez. I want everyone else in firing squad formation with assault rifles and grenade launchers. We’re in hostile territory,” she adds as she loads up her grenade launcher. “Let’s make our enemies look at us so they don’t notice that a more covert operation is going on.”

When she clambers down out of the driver’s seat and gets a closer look at the man she assumes is the Governor, nausea twists her stomach into knots and a lump forms in her throat.

 _I know him_ , Lucy thinks as she forces herself to meet his eyes. _What fresh hell is this?_ “Hello,” she says out loud in her sharpest voice, “my name is Lucy Orville. I take it your men gave you my message?”

Philip nods and looks down on her with a smile that he seems to think is charming but makes her skin crawl. “One of my people for two of yours,” he says, “hardly seems fair.”

Lucy snorts at that. “One,” she says as she shifts her weight onto her cane, “life isn’t fair, and two: you’re the one with everything at stake here. I happen to know that your entire force of trained personnel consists of six men and with guns and a girl with a compound bow. I have ten people with assault rifles and grenade launchers,” she cocks her head at the weapon in her hand, “and even if you take some of us out, the odds of your guards killing all of us before we blow your gate to kingdom come are slim to none.”

Alec takes her saying that as the signal to pilot one of their drones out of the back of the rig and flies it until the machine is level with his eyes, so all of the guards on the wall aim their guns at the unmanned aerial vehicle hovering in front of them instead of the people on the ground.

“I have ten more of these,” Lucy informs him, “and I’ve given orders to my people back at the prison to use our drones to bring every horde within a hundred miles here if we don’t all make it back alive, including Glenn and Maggie. I’d guess your walls can withstand hordes of dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands. What about millions?” she arches her eyebrows at him like a challenge and smiles at the stricken expression that flickers over his face. “I thought so,” she deadpans.

“You’re bluffing,” Philip says and grits his teeth around the words.

“I don’t bluff,” Lucy retorts, “and I don’t make idle threats. Bring my people out safe, or I will destroy everything that you’ve built…” she bites down on the consonant and glares at him from behind her glasses before she adds, “…it’s your choice.”

Philip clenches his jaw and turns to Shumpert. “Bring out the prisoners,” he says.

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

It’s almost dusk by the time a horde of zombies chases a black man named Tyreese, his sister Sasha, his thirteen-year-old daughter Julie, their friend Allen, his wife Donna, and their son Ben off the road and into the forest that stands in the space between the prison and the highway. Tyreese is carrying a hammer, Sasha is wielding a shovel, Julie has a child-sized axe, Allen has a wooden baseball bat, Donna has a crowbar, and Ben has a heavy machete with a blunt top meant for chopping. Tyreese runs ahead to scout a place for them to regroup and sees one of the guard towers above the trees. Donna screams and drops her crowbar as a zombie grabs her with stiff fingers and gnaws on her upper arm, its teeth sinking into her flesh and ripping out a gobbet of fresh meat while her husband and son turn to look at her in horror. Allen hits the zombie with his baseball bat and scoops her arm over his shoulder to drag her along with him, desperate and frenzied.

Tyreese stops on the bridge over the creek to catch his breath and wipe the sweat out of his eyes. “Come on,” he says and eyes the front gate.

“We don’t know what’s in there,” Sasha tells him frantically.

Julie glances back at the shambling horde over her shoulder. “We know what’s out here,” she retorts.

Axel, who’s keeping watch in one of the guard towers with Carol, stares down at them before he slants his gaze to her. “Should we help them?” he asks.

Carol narrows her eyes at them before she taps her earpiece. “Nate,” she says over the radio, “Sophie, were any of these people in Woodbury?”

“No,” Sophie informs her from the other guard tower in front of the prison, “I’ve never seen any of them before.”

Carol nods curtly. “Then we help them,” she murmurs. “It’s what Lucy would want us to do.”

Sasha, meanwhile, looks at Donna warily. “Not her,” she says.

Donna winces as Allen shakes his head and holds onto her. “Sasha,” he says, “don’t.”

“Allen,” Sasha retorts, “she’s slowing you down, she’s slowing us down, and once we’re in there, when she turns…” Then she fizzles out because they all know what’s going to happen when, not if, she turns into a zombie. It’s a sad fact of life and death, these days.

Donna nods, slowly but surely. “Sasha’s right,” she says. “You’ve got to leave me.”

“No.” Allen swallows thickly. “Please…they’ll tear her apart.”

Tyreese sighs. “Sasha,” he says, “we can’t do this.”

Sasha arches her eyebrows at him incredulously. “You wanna drag her around?” she asks. “Ty, she’s suffering, and when she turns…”

Tyreese shakes his head with slow vehemence. “Ben’s not ready,” he says.

“It’s a mistake,” Sasha tells him flatly.

“Maybe,” Tyreese says before a shot rings out and one of the shamblers behind them drops like a bag of bones and rotten flesh. Carl and Sophia are standing behind the outermost gate with guns drawn and they shoot the zombies one by one while Duane hauls it open and shouts at them to come in, but it’s too late. Donna is already dead.

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Amy sneaks into the apartment building where most of the denizens of Woodbury live and finds her sister in the apartment Michonne told her about. “Andrea,” she whispers as she tries not to burst into tears because the sight of her sister alive is enough to make hope coil tight in her chest, radiant and loud and dangerous.

Andrea looks at her in the mirror with a gobsmacked expression before she turns to gape at her face to face. “Amy?” she whispers back as the younger blonde runs to throw her arms around her, “how are you here right now?”

Amy sniffles and shakes her head. “There’s no time to explain,” she says. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

Andrea extricates from her sister and frowns at her. “I can’t just leave,” she says.

Amy grits her teeth around a frustrated noise, but she doesn’t get a chance to change her sister’s mind because the so-called Governor himself opens the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low drawl sprinkled with badly concealed menace and shuts the door behind him, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

Andrea turns and smiles at him, oblivious. “Philip,” she says, “this is Amy.”

“Your sister?” Philip asks incredulously and frowns, the space between his eyebrows furrowing. There’s no way that her sister is here by chance, no way she could’ve snuck into Woodbury to find Andrea on her own. Philip clenches his jaw and puts on his most charming smile to hide the blare of the silent alarm in his head behind a mask of good old-fashioned Southern hospitality. “Any family of Andrea’s is welcome here,” he says and opens the door before he steps back out into the hallway. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

Amy exhales a breath that she didn’t know she was holding in a loud whoosh. “I’m not welcome here,” she says. “Let’s go.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_24 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

After she makes the exchange, Lucy has Cath drive the rig back to the rendezvous point on the highway to wait for Daryl and the others while she has a panic attack in the passenger seat. Cath parks in front of the abandoned gas station where they planned to regroup and turns to look at her friend with cartoonishly wide brown eyes. “What’s wrong?” she wants to know.

Lucy exhales in a loud wheeze and coughs as she chokes on the bile in her mouth. “You mean besides the literal war I just started?” she bites out.

“Merle started this war, not you,” Cath points out. “I’ve known you forever, and I know you hate to start fights, but you never hesitate to finish them.”

Lucy adjusts her glasses and forces herself to look her best friend in the eyes. “I know why you thought the Governor looked familiar,” she whispers. “I showed you his picture nine years ago.”

Cath gapes at her as comprehension dawns. “Wait,” she says, “but that means…”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound, “he’s my biological father—” she spits the word _father_ out like a glob of gristle in between her teeth before she adds, “—and we’re going to kill him.”


	19. Shadows in the Flame

**An all-night barbeque. A dance on the courthouse lawn.**  
**The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night**  
**is thinking. It’s thinking of love.**  
**It’s thinking of stabbing us to death**  
**and leaving our bodies in a dumpster.**  
**That’s a nice touch, stains in the night, whiskey kisses for everyone.**

Richard Siken, “Little Beast”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 19**  
Shadows in the Flame

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_24 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

After she emerges from the semi-truck, Lucy talks to Glenn and Maggie about what happened to them in Woodbury and hearing their obvoluted stories only strengthens her resolve to shoot her biological father in the face the first chance she gets. Gilda hugs Maggie sideways with an arm around her shoulders before she wraps her oversized bomber jacket around Glenn like a blanket. Gert boosts one of the abandoned clunkers in the parking lot of the Chevron so she can drive Maggie and Glenn back to the prison, but her brother is too stubborn to get in the car.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Glenn says impassively.

Lucy snorts. “You killed a zombie with your bare hands and fresh cuts bleeding all over your face,” she deadpans. “You could be infected.”

“We should go,” Maggie adds furtively. “Glenn, I can’t lose you. Please.”

Glenn slumps his shoulders and winces as tears stab at the corners of his blackened eye. “I’m sorry,” he says. “We told the Governor where the prison is. We couldn’t hold out.”

Lucy shakes her head slowly. “I heard everything that happened on the radio,” she murmurs. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Glenn swallows hard and turns to look at his girlfriend. “Maggie,” he whispers, “did he—”

“No,” Maggie says as her voice wobbles out of her mouth. “No, he barely touched me. All this time, running from zombies…” she flicks her gaze from Gilda to Lucy before she turns back to her boyfriend and gently puts her hand on his face, “…you forget what people do, what they’ve always done. Look at what they did to you.”

Glenn swallows thickly and lets the warmth of her palm seep into him, to chase away the chill. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, “as long as he didn’t—”

“No,” Maggie tells him softly. “I promise.”

Lucy exhales a soft whoosh of air. “Okay,” she says. “Gert, boost more of these cars. There’s no reason we should all be sitting out here waiting for Daryl. We can strip them for parts, scrap them in the machine workshop, and use the lead in the batteries for reloading our ammo. Nico, T-Dog, and Anton can stay here with me. I want everybody else to go home and work on the wall. It’s only halfway done and that could be a problem if the Governor brings the fight to us.”

“I guess we’re not getting any sleep tonight,” Jacqui says and sighs as she climbs out of the back of the big rig.

T-Dog gives her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “You know what they say,” he murmurs, “sleep is for the weak.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Toby shows Amy where his escape hatch is and lets her sneak into Woodbury by herself to find Andrea while the others wait for nightfall. It’s a risk, but the sun is going down and a blonde dressed in pastels and faded blue jeans isn’t going to stick out like a sore thumb in Woodbury in the same way that any of the others would. Daryl has a crossbow, a weapon that can’t be concealed. Michonne is carrying the kind of sword that white people tend to associate with samurai warriors even though samurai haven’t existed since the Meiji era, Oscar is still wearing his prison jumpsuit, and Rick brings trouble wherever he goes. Toby can’t go in by himself either, because he doesn’t know if anyone has noticed that he went A. W. O. L. or what unpretty lies the Governor told everyone in town about him because he left.

Daryl taps his earpiece as they crouch down behind the abandoned cars parked haphazardly on the street outside the wall. “You there, darlin’?” he asks. “Maggie and Glenn make it out safe and sound?”

Lucy hums her answer to both of his questions. “I’m waiting at the rendezvous point,” she informs him softly. “You know the plan.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says gruffly, “get in, find Andrea, get the fuck out.”

No matter how badly he wants to see Merle and smack some sense into his brother, Daryl gets why Andrea is the priority here. It’s her that’s being preyed on and manipulated by the so-called Governor of this place. Merle has been complicit in the coldblooded murders of over a dozen people whose only crime was trying to leave town. Andrea doesn’t know anything about any of that. If they’re going to save anyone, it should be her; but knowing all that doesn’t make Daryl want to save his brother any less, even though he knows deep down that Merle isn’t worth saving.

 _Hell_ , Daryl thinks, _maybe he don’t wanna be saved and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it_. “I love you,” he whispers to her.

Lucy smiles and he can hear the brilliance in the quiet rasp of her voice. “I love you, too,” she whispers back.

“Dammit,” Rick swears under his breath as Michonne turns and sneaks away. “Alright, we need to downsize.”

“Ain’t no way we’re gonna be able t’ check in all them buildings,” Daryl mutters and taps his earpiece to turn it off, “not with all them guards there.”

“We don’t have to,” Toby says, “there are only a few places the Governor could be right now, with the curfew in town. We can start with the building where Michonne was held and go from there.”

Daryl nods brusquely. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Philip comes to see Merle in his apartment in the aftermath of the hostage exchange to find him pinpointing the location of West Georgia Correctional on a map. “That prison’s the perfect place to hole up,” he murmurs as he narrows his eyes at the red dot Merle used to mark the spot, “what once kept prisoners in now keeps the zombies out. That’s smart. This girl, Lucy…she’s not someone to be taken lightly.”

“You thinkin’ of takin’ it over?” Merle asks, “movin’ Woodbury there?”

Philip scoffs. “Merle,” he says, “our people love it here because it feels like what was. Move ’em to damp cells surrounded by barbed wire? No,” he shakes his head slowly. “We gotta take out the group that’s living there. Let the zombies move back in. No one will be the wiser.”

“Problem is,” Merle drawls, “my brother’s with ’em.”

“Well,” Philip says with a smile that oozes like molasses spiked with strychnine, “you’ll talk to him. Make him our inside man,” he arches his eyebrows before he adds, “he’ll get us in there and we’ll wave the white flag like we did with the National Guard before we gun ’em down.”

“Nothin’ happens t’ Daryl,” Merle tells him sharply.

Philip nods succinctly. “No,” he says and lies through his teeth, “of course not.”

* * *

Michonne brings Daryl, Toby, Oscar, and Rick to the building where the Governor tried to recruit her into helping with his freaky mad science experiments. It’s dark and eerily quiet inside, with slivers of moonlight and dancing torchlight filtering in through the shuttered windows.

“This is where you were held?” Rick asks.

“I was questioned,” Michonne says and hisses on the sibilant.

“This is an all-purpose area,” Toby explains, “the kids go to school here and they use most of the rooms in this building for storage.”

Daryl goes to peel back the floral print curtain that covers one of the windows and squints out at the people still walking the streets. “I thought you said there was a curfew,” he snarls low in his throat.

“Main Street is crowded during the day,” Toby clarifies. “Those people are just stragglers.”

“We’ll be sitting ducks if anyone comes in here,” Rick says. “We gotta move.”

“After the stragglers get off the streets, we’ll go to his apartment,” Michonne says, “they could be in there.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils and stops peering out from behind the curtain to glare at her. “Yeah?” he retorts. “What if they ain’t?”

“Then we’ll look somewhere else,” Michonne hisses.

“Amy can’t talk t’ us over the radio without blowin’ the whole mission all t’ hell,” Daryl mutters, “so right now it’s the blind leadin’ the blind. Let’s split up, cover more ground. We’ll do like she’s gonna, meet up back at the escape hatch in about an hour.”

Only nobody gets a chance to split up because somebody knocks at the door and they all scramble to hide as a key clicks and turns in the lock. Toby hushes them as a man walks into the dark classroom.

“I know you’re in here,” the man says. “I saw you moving from outside. Now, you’re not supposed to be in here and you know it. Who’s in here?”

Toby steps out from behind the shelf and waves. “Hey, Russ,” he says.

Russ chuckles and exhales a sigh of relief. This isn’t the first time he’s caught Toby out past curfew, doing inventory or cleaning the instruments the kids use for the music classes he taught whenever he wasn’t on guard duty. “Oh,” he says, “it’s just you, Toby.”

Toby nods. “Yeah,” he says, “just me.”

“Well,” Russ says and shakes his head before he turns on his heels and walks back out of the building, “don’t forget to lock up when you leave.”

“Sure thing,” Toby says.

“Have a good night,” Russ says and waves before he shuts the door behind him.

Daryl exhales in a huff and takes his finger off the trigger of his crossbow. “That was too close,” he says gruffly.

“You’re telling me,” Toby quips. “We’re just lucky the Governor hasn’t publicly branded me a traitor. Yet.”

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Carl, Duane, and Sophia take Sasha, Tyreese, Julie, Allen, Donna, and Ben into the guard station at the other end of C block—it’s almost identical to the guard station at the front end, but it doesn’t have a breakroom with a kitchen or a hallway that leads into the main building. Just a table, a bathroom, a staircase to a guard post in one corner, and a holding cell. Allen is too weak to carry his wife all the way up from the outermost gate to the cell block, so Tyreese ends up taking her dead weight out of his hands.

“Oh God,” Allen says and falls to his knees next to his wife as Tyreese puts Donna’s body on the concrete floor, “is she dead?”

Carl sighs and cocks the hammer on his pistol as Allen clings to her cold fingers and sobs. “I’ll take care of this,” he says.

“Whoa!” Tyreese shouts. “Whoa, kid. Wait a minute.”

Carl glances at Sophia, who shakes her head. “We can’t wait,” he says, “she doesn’t have that long.”

“Who the hell are you, kid?” Sasha wants to know. “How did you get in here? Who are you with?”

“Look,” Duane chimes in and his voice cracks on the consonant as Sophia puts her finger on the trigger of her .22 caliber pistol. It’s the same kind that Lucy uses for zombie kills, a Ruger SR22—only Sophia carries a Model 3606 instead of a Model 3607, because a Model 3606 has a purple grip frame. “We can help you, but first things first.”

“No,” Julie says and glares at Carl as she hands the hammer to her father. “We take care of our own.”

Ben stumbles back and wobbles on his feet as his father hunches over his dead mother in a futile attempt to protect her, even though she doesn’t need someone to protect her anymore. “No!” Allen wails. “No, Tyreese!”

“I gotta do this,” Tyreese says and glances down at the dead woman as Allen takes one of her hands in both of his to squeeze her fingers one last time. “Look, just take Ben and lean against the wall. I promise it’ll be quick.”

Allen nods and goes to pull Ben into his arms as his son cries and shakes with the force of his sobs. Duane and Sophia duck back into C block and Carl shuts the door behind them before he locks it.

“Hey,” Sasha says as the door creaks shut, “what are you doing?”

“Wait,” Julie bites down on the consonant in unadulterated disbelief, “did that asshole seriously just lock all of us in here?”

“Hey!” Sasha yells, “open the door!”

“That room is secure,” Duane informs them. “You’ll be safe. You have food, and water, and a working toilet.”

“You open this door right now,” Sasha retorts as she walks over to peer through the bars and catches sight of a pale blonde girl and a much older man staring at them.

“We can’t,” Carl says.

“You can’t just leave us here!” Julie shouts after him.

“Sasha! Julie!” Tyreese sighs and lowers his voice as he takes his sister aside, “back away from the door and let the kids go. Look around you. This is the best we’ve had in weeks. It’s their house,” he says and glances down at the body on the floor. “We’ve got other things to do. We don’t want any trouble.”

Beth flicks her gaze to Carl and folds her arms tight across her chest anxiously. “Shouldn’t we help them?” she asks.

“I did,” Carl says with slow finality before he turns his back on the newcomers and walks away.


	20. Night Comes Down

**A girl enters,**  
**not dead but**  
**not alive. Stuck in some**  
**wild-eyed place between,**  
**where the hands wring**  
**themselves into raw wounds**  
**pretending like sabotage and safety**  
**could be the same thing if**  
**you try hard enough. A perennial**  
**sadness chokes the chest**  
**as it scrapes its way**  
**to the throat, and**  
**all along, the girl waits,**  
**hands red, eyes hollow.**

Emily Palermo, “Before the Ghost Girl Was the Ghost Girl”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VII**  
_The Best Defense_  
**Chapter 20**  
Night Comes Down

* * *

_Monday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

After he sees Amy in the apartment with Andrea, the Governor orders his guards to sweep the town and shoot any strangers on sight. Michonne sneaks off by herself to confront the Governor while the others retreat into a dark building that was a restaurant once upon a time.

Daryl goes to check the door only to find it welded shut with the sheet metal from the wall on the other side. “Ain’t no way out back here,” he says.

“They know we’re here,” Oscar murmurs, stating the blatantly obvious.

Rick looks out the window from behind a colorful quilt being used as a makeshift curtain. “They’re looking for us,” he hisses, “we have to get back.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Daryl retorts, “not ’til I see my brother.”

Rick shakes his head so fast he almost discombobulates himself. “No way,” he snaps. “You heard what Lucy said. We’re in hostile territory. We gotta get outta here now.”

“Maybe I can talk t’ him,” Daryl says desperately. “Maybe I can work somethin’ out—”

“You’re not thinking straight,” Rick says. “How’re we gonna make it out if the Governor finds us? I need you. Our people need you. Lucy needs you, now more than ever.”

“I know,” Daryl growls low in his throat as a frustrated noise snarls up from somewhere deep in his chest.

Rick nods, a sharp descent of his chin. “You with me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Daryl says gruffly. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

* * *

Amy folds her arms tight across her chest and ducks her head so her hair falls into her face as everyone in the ramshackle laboratory stares at her. Milton, the mad scientist who doesn’t seem to understand how decomposition works. Haley, the girl with the compound bow. Martinez, with his baseball cap on backwards. Shumpert, carrying a Norinco Type 56 assault rifle, a Chinese derivative of the Russian AK-47 that seems to be the weapon of choice for Woodbury guards. Bob, one of the guards carrying the same assault rifle but with the under-folding pigsticker, or bayonet. Merle, the white supremacist who rode around with a Nazi symbol on his bike and who makes her feel profoundly unsafe on principle because she’s a Jewish lesbian, and Philip—the so-called Governor of Woodbury himself—who keeps looking at her like he can’t wait to get her alone so he can torture her for information whenever he thinks her sister isn’t looking at him.

“Any signs of them?” Philip asks Merle as he loads a clip of 9mm rounds into his Beretta 92SB.

Andrea narrows her eyes at him as she frowns, the space between her eyebrows furrowing. “Wait,” she says, “signs of who? What exactly is happening out there?”

“Some assholes want what we have,” Merle tells her before the Governor has a chance to answer her question himself.

Amy knows it’s a party line he’s feeding her sister, but Andrea buys it hook, line, and sinker. “Then what are we doing waiting around here?” she wants to know.

“Damn straight,” Merle says and smirks at her. “Let’s take these sons of bitches out.”

Milton glances at Amy, a woman he’s never seen before who isn’t being treated as a threat. It’s obvious that Philip is desperately trying not to alienate Andrea by taking her sister prisoner, but that hospitality isn’t going to last. “How do we know the perimeter was breached?” he asks. “I mean, did anyone here actually see them?”

“They killed Warren,” Merle informs him even though he knows Maggie was the one who did that before the prisoner exchange using the ulna from the arm of the zombie he threw at Glenn that afternoon, “stuck a stake through his neck.”

“We need patrols now,” Philip grits out instead of bothering to respond to that. “We can’t take any chances with these terrorists.” Then he reaches out to Andrea and puts his hand her shoulder. “Why don’t you and your sister go and check on our people?” he suggests, “make sure they’re safe.”

“You want me to do house calls and make sure everyone’s tucked in?” Andrea says and scowls at the thought.

“Look,” Philip says, “these guys could be holed up in one of our residences. They could be holding someone captive, or worse.”

“Why can’t anyone else handle that?” Andrea wants to know. “I’ve got a hell of a lot of experience and my sister has been on the road fighting to survive for months—”

“Thank you,” Philip says dismissively before he turns to his guards and orders, “the rest of you split up. Merle will lead the search.”

“Wait,” Andrea says and catches him by the sleeve of his shirt on his way out, “don’t you think someone like Haley should be handling the door-to-doors?”

“I need someone with some authority to provide reassurance,” Philip tells her in a hushed tone. “Haley’s just a kid, and these people could be dangerous. We need to keep our people calm.”

“They’ve already killed one man,” Andrea points out, “and I’m good with a gun—”

“Just do as I ask,” Philip says and gnashes his teeth around the words.

Andrea narrows her eyes at him as the feeling that something is wrong settles and squelches in her gut. “Sure,” she says faintly and watches him walk out on her.

Amy sighs. “Andrea,” she whispers urgently, “these people aren’t terrorists. It’s Daryl, and Rick, and Oscar, and Toby—”

Andrea frowns as she recognizes all but one of those names. “Cath’s husband?” she whispers back.

“Yeah,” Amy mutters, “and your ex-girlfriend.”

Andrea gapes at her, gobsmacked. “Michonne?” she asks in a soft voice that shudders out of her mouth. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Amy says, “she told us that she had unfinished business with your new boyfriend. You still have the worst taste in guys, by the way.”

Andrea rolls her eyes at that even though she has a niggling feeling that her sister isn’t wrong. “We need to find her before she finds him,” she says. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Daryl throws a smoke grenade and it goes off in the middle of Main Street to obscure their movements as they retreat toward the wall so they can get out of town alive. Amy gets separated from Andrea in the chaos that ensues and screams as someone grabs her, but stops as soon as she sees it’s Toby holding a finger to his lips. When he brings her to where the others took cover, her eyes go wide as Daryl extracts the flashbangs from the duffle bag that Oscar has been carrying and gets ready to set them off.

“Well,” Amy quips, “that escalated quickly.”

Daryl squints at her scrutinizing. “I take it the Governor saw ya’,” he deduces.

“Yeah,” Amy tells him, “he came in while I was talking to Andrea. I was surprised he didn’t take me prisoner since he’s smart enough to know me being here while you’re infiltrating his town isn’t a coincidence, but I think he likes manipulating my sister too much to let her see what an asshole he really is. We were going to find Michonne, but Toby found me first.”

Daryl nods brusquely. “Okay,” he mutters, “we’re gonna come back for your sister and my big brother, but right now we gotta go.”

“On three,” Rick says. “One, two, three…” he pauses to reload his M4A1 as Daryl tosses a stun grenade out into the street, “…stay in formation and keep track of each other.”

Daryl slings his crossbow back on his shoulder and puts his earplugs in before he stuffs his earpiece into the back pocket of his jeans and grabs an AKMS assault rifle with a thirty-round magazine. “Let’s go!” he shouts over the ricochet of gunfire.

After the flashbang goes off, it’s pandemonium: thick plumes of smoke unfurling in the night air, people jumping at shadows and shooting at anything that moves. Andrea stops to draw her Beretta and she has Oscar in her sights, but she has no idea where Amy is. Rick guns down two of the sentries on the wall as Martinez and Shumpert duck behind a bench and start firing shots at them from the rear.

Daryl shoots right back at them and squints in a futile attempt to see through the smoke, but he doesn’t see that his brother is crouched down behind that bench with an Uzi in his hand.

“Take cover over there!” Rick shouts and flails an arm at one of the buildings close to the wall, near the solar panels in the street.

Philip comes running up the road to where the shots are ringing out and finds Andrea with her back up against a brick wall. “You alright?” he asks her.

“I saw them,” Andrea tells him and he gets a stricken look on his face that says _oh, shit_ without saying anything at all before she adds, “one of them, at least. Black guy. Young. It looked like he was wearing a prison jumpsuit.”

Philip nods and hides his sigh of relief in a huff. “Must be escaped convicts,” he says. “There’s a prison a few miles up the road.” Then he frowns and looks at her over his shoulder. “Where’s your sister?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Andrea whispers frantically, “I lost her in the chaos.”

“We’ll find her,” Philip whispers back. “I promise.”

“How many are there?” Toby asks in a hoarse voice.

“I didn’t see,” Oscar says.

Daryl shrugs and reloads his AKMS. “It don’t matter,” he says. “There’s gonna be more of ’em the longer we draw things out. We need t’ move.”

“Any grenades left?” Rick wants to know.

Daryl nods brusquely. “Yeah,” he says.

“Get ’em ready,” Rick tells him. “We gotta gun our way to the wall.”

“I’m not leaving this damn town without my sister,” Amy says.

“We ain’t got no choice,” Daryl retorts before he makes a break for it and runs out into the street. “C’mon!”

Philip catches sight of Amy through the smoke and gives Andrea a furtive look while he puts his hand on her shoulder to get her attention. “We gotta get off the street,” he says. “These people aren’t soldiers, they’re survivors. We’ll wait ’em out.”

Andrea frowns at him skeptically. “We should hold the line,” she says, “once the smoke clears—”

Philip shakes his head slowly. “Nah,” he says, “they could be anywhere. I want you off the street.”

“Where are you going?” Andrea screams as she watches him run off into the thick of the firefight.

“Just get off the street!” Philip yells back at her over his shoulder.

“You guys go ahead,” Daryl says. “I’m gonna lay down some cover fire.”

“No,” Amy tells him. “We need to stick together.”

Daryl extracts another stun grenade from the duffle bag. “Too hairy,” he mutters. “I’ll be right behind ya’. Ready?” he shouts and throws one of the flashbangs out into the street.

Rick stops and gapes as Shane aims a gun at him through the fumes of smoke. Oscar runs to get Toby and then Amy over the wall before he takes a bullet in the gut and starts bleeding out. Rick shoots his best friend in the head at point blank range, but when he walks over to look at the corpse he realizes that he didn’t kill Shane all over again at all. It was just another hallucination, one so vivid that he forgot his best friend was dead for a minute there.

Daryl runs out of bullets and gets caught by Shumpert and Martinez before he has a chance to make it over the wall. Rick doesn’t even see them dragging him away to meet his impending doom.

* * *

Michonne is waiting in his apartment to confront the Governor when she hears something moving in the locked room she tried to break into before she left Woodbury the other day. What’s inside is more horrifying than she thought: a wall of fish tanks full of disembodied zombie heads, including Mike and Terry with their toothless gobs and Lieutenant Welles from the National Guard helicopter that crashed in Senoia. Worse, he’s keeping a little girl chained up and straightjacketed inside a cage in one corner of the room. There’s a bag over her head and a collar buckled around her neck, like he’s keeping her as a pet instead of a prisoner.

“It’s okay,” Michonne whispers in a hush of pure horror as she opens the latch to let the girl out and unclips the leash from the back of her collar. “I’m not gonna hurt you…”

When she pulls the bag off, she recoils at the stench of decay and the soft yowls spilling out of the mouth full of rotten teeth. Michonne adjusts her grip on her katana and turns the girl around to stab her in the back of the head, but she hears the cocking of a hammer and turns to find the Governor aiming his Beretta at her.

“No!” Philip wails. “Please don’t hurt her! Look,” he clicks the safety back on and puts his pistol back in its holster before he puts the belt with his knife and his gun on the floor. “It’s me you want,” he says. “There’s no need for my daughter to suffer for my sins.”

Michonne scrunches up her whole face in disgust. “Your daughter doesn’t have needs,” she hisses.

“Please don’t hurt my little girl,” Philip begs. “Please don’t—”

Michonne stabs the zombified little girl in the face and Philip howls in despair before he lunges at her. After he gets his hands around her throat and tries to squeeze the life out of her, she hits him with the pommel of her katana and he tries to beat the shit out of her by shoving her headfirst into one of his fish tanks. Michonne drops her sword and claws to get it back in her hands, but he stops her so she grabs a shard of glass flecked with contaminated water instead and puts out his eye. Philip screams and writhes in pain on the floor as Michonne drops the shard and picks up her sword, but Andrea walks in and holds her at gunpoint before she gets a chance to put him out of his misery.

Andrea swallows hard and stares at the woman she loves with a stricken look on her face. “What have you done?” she whispers.

Michonne walks out on her again instead of answering her question. Philip cries over the decomposing corpse of his daughter while Andrea looks around the room in horror, the curtain peeled back to show her everything she didn’t want to see.

* * *

After she takes him to Dr. Stevens to get his eye looked at, Philip gathers the remaining citizens of Woodbury at the arena and Andrea is terrified at the thought of seeing her sister in chains. There’s a part of her that hopes Philip wouldn’t do that, but Andrea is starting to think she might’ve dug her own grave by staying with him instead of leaving with Michonne when she had the chance.

“What can I say?” Philip asks the denizens of his town. “There hasn’t been a night like this since the walls were completed. I thought we were past that, past the days when we all sat huddled and scared in front of the TV during the early days of the outbreak…” he glances at Milton, who’s been with him since the beginning of the end of the world, before he adds, “…the fear we all felt then, we felt it again tonight. I failed you. I promised to keep you safe. I should tell you we’ll be okay. That we’re safe, and tomorrow we’ll bury our dead and endure, but I won’t…because I can’t,” he says, “because I’m afraid. That’s right. I’m afraid of terrorists who want what we have, want to destroy us!” he yells so his voice echoes in the arena. “Worse, one of those terrorists is one of our own.”

Andrea forgets how to breathe for a fraction of a second as panic blooms in her chest before he flicks his gaze to the man with one hand and points at him accusingly.

“Merle,” Philip grits out, “the man I counted on, the man I trusted, he led ’em here and he let ’em in. It was you,” he hisses on the sibilant as Shumpert holds a crossbow on Merle with a bolt to his head and one of the guards takes his knife away, “you lied. Betrayed us all,” he says and turns to look back over his shoulder as two more guards bring out their prisoner, “this is one of the terrorists. Merle’s own brother!”

Andrea gasps as Daryl struggles against the rope binding his hands behind his back and Philip yanks off the bag over his head.

“What should we do with them, huh?” Philip asks as he lets go of the redneck in the winged vest. “What do you want?”

Andrea looks around as her panic amps up. Merle is staring at Daryl with a raw look in his eyes—half agony, half hope. “Kill ’em!” the denizens of Woodbury cry out like the cawing of a murder of crows. “Kill ’em!”

“Well,” Philip bites out, “you wanted your brother. Now you’ve got him.”


	21. Crossfire

**My stories are about humans and how they react, or fail to react, or react stupidly. I’m pointing the finger at us, not at the zombies.**

George A. Romero

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 21**  
Crossfire

* * *

_Tuesday, 18 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 310._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_24 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

Lucy waits at the gas station in the passenger seat of the rig in the dark and she can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong, but she chalks it up to her anxiety until her earpiece beeps.

“Medusa,” Amy huffs and puffs over the radio as she retreats into the night with the others, “we lost Daryl.”

Lucy frowns at that. “Vulcan,” she murmurs, “pinpoint his location now.”

“Still in Woodbury,” Alec informs her, “I think he’s where Nate said their gladiator arena was.”

Lucy ducks her head and nods, rolling with it because of course her biological father has a gladiator arena in his Stepford-esque town. “Okay,” she says, “don’t go anywhere. I’m coming to you,” she puts her grenade launcher on the floor by the passenger seat as Nico clambers into the driver’s seat to take the wheel, “we’re getting Daryl the hell out of there.”

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

It’s after midnight by the time Daryl is dragged into the torchlit arena, the sight of Merle like a sucker punch in the stomach as the flames lick shadows into the walls around them and the denizens of Woodbury cheer for his brother to kill him for their entertainment. Still, the assholes who took his weapons didn’t find the radio in his back pocket. All he has to do is wait for Lucy to get him the hell out of this.

 _Panem et circenses_ , Lucy had told him once. _It’s Latin. It literally translates as ‘bread and circuses.’ It’s a metonymy that means a superficial method of leadership, a palatable diversion organized by those in power to distract the people from the terrible things going on around them_.

Daryl snorts because the so-called Governor must’ve had that same idea. On the bright side, one of the people in the crowd isn’t letting him distract her with his games anymore.

“Let me go!” Andrea shrieks and struggles as Milton tries to keep her quiet and Martinez tries to hold her back. “Philip—”

“Stay out of this,” Martinez snaps at her.

“Philip,” Andrea begs, “he’s my _friend_.”

“It’s not up to me anymore,” Philip says, “the people have spoken.”

“What?” Andrea shrills incredulously.

Philip ignores her as she tries and fails to shake Martinize off and turns back to Merle. “I asked you where your loyalties lie,” he murmurs, “and you said here. Prove it. Prove it to us all,” he flails one arm obliquely at the people standing around the arena before he adds, “brother against brother. Winner goes free. Fight…” he shouts with a harsh edge in his voice, “…to the death!”

Daryl grunts as Shumpert cuts the rope binding his hands behind his back and glares at the Governor. There’s a drip of blood trickling down his cheek from underneath the patch of gauze covering his right eye, and it makes him wish that whoever got close enough to stab this motherfucker in the face hadn’t been so half-assed about it.

“Philip,” Andrea whispers, “don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

Merle swallows hard and flicks his gaze to his brother. “Y’all know me!” he yells. “I’m gonna do whatever I gotta do t’ prove—” he says before he punches Daryl in the stomach with his fist instead of his gauntlet hard enough to knock him into the dirt, “—that my loyalty—” he gnashes his teeth around the word _loyalty_ and kicks his brother in the face, “—is t’ this here town!”

Daryl punches Merle in nose and scrambles to his feet as the guards bring out zombies with graspers around their rotting necks, only to end up back on the ground with his hands around his brother’s throat. “C’mon,” he growls, “d’you really think this asshole’s gonna let you go?”

Merle wheezes as Daryl puts too much pressure on his windpipe. “Just follow my lead, little brother,” he huffs. “We’re getting’ outta this right now!”

Daryl lets Merle yank him upright so the momentum puts him back on his feet and they stand back to back as the zombies yowl at them. If they get close enough to catch a whiff of him, the Governor is going to find out that he’s immune and he can’t let that happen. Lucy’s in too much danger as it is.

Merle smacks one zombie with his gauntlet and knocks it down. Daryl shoves another zombie into the crowd as Milton narrows his eyes at the archer in the winged vest, at the way the zombie didn’t even try to bite him.

“Philip,” Andrea screams, “stop this! Philip, stop this—”

Rick throws a smoke bomb that goes off in the arena as Lucy shoots the zombies in the head one by one by one by one and her people shoot and kill six denizens of Woodbury in the crossfire.

Amy runs out into the chaos to grab her sister. “Let’s go,” she whispers urgently.

Andrea nods and takes her hand as they flee into the smoke, the people in the arena scattering like wisps of screams in the wind. Shumpert kills one of the zombies with a bolt to the back of the head before Daryl smacks him upside the head and takes his crossbow back. Rick locks eyes with the Governor in spite of the smokescreen before he turns and runs away.

Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and grabs Lucy by the hand she isn’t using to grip her cane because he doesn’t want to lose track of her in a town whose leader would probably dissect her given half a chance. “Let’s go!” he shouts.

“They’re all at the arena,” Merle huffs as Daryl runs to the bus where the blood splatter from Oscar getting shot in the gut oozed to stain the pavement before the guards moved his body. “This way.”

“You’re not going anywhere with us!” Rick snaps at him.

“You really wanna do this now?” Merle retorts.

Daryl grunts and helps his brother push a sheet of metal out of their way so Lucy won’t have to climb over the wall again. “Rick,” he says gruffly. “C’mon. We gotta go.”

There are zombies shambling outside the wall, drawn by the noise of gunfire. Lucy clambers into the passenger seat of the rig and Daryl goes to open the back hatch as Nico starts the engine. Rick scowls at Merle as the engineer makes a U-turn and they drive off into the night. Nobody sees the fresher zombie peel the sheet of metal back and shuffle into Woodbury through the hole they left in the wall.

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_45 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

“Where’s Oscar?” Anton asks as they drive back up the highway. “What happened to him?”

Rick clenches his jaw and glares at Merle, who might have shot Oscar himself for all they know. “Oscar didn’t make it,” he says gravely, “he died helping us over the wall.”

Anton swallows thickly and Michonne puts her hand on his shoulder, hoping that he won’t notice how torn up she is because she grappled with the Governor and put out his eye.

Nico stops the semi-truck in the middle of the road because she sees a familiar green Hyundai on its way back to the rendezvous point at the Chevron a quarter of a mile behind them. Lucy shrugs out of her bulletproof vest before she clambers down out of the big rig.

“Glenn? Maggie?” she says as they emerge from the Hyundai. “What are you doing back out here?”

“We couldn’t sleep,” Glenn informs her as if driving back to Woodbury by themselves wasn’t a reckless and brainless idea. Then he catches sight of Merle and gapes at him in the dark. “What the hell is he doing here?” he shouts and draws his Glock as Michonne unsheathes her katana and lunges at the redneck.

“Hey,” Daryl snarls, “put it down.”

Michonne shakes her head so her dreadlocks oscillate around her shoulders. “He tried to kill me!” she screams.

“Look at what he did!” Glenn shouts and winces at the pain in his swollen eye. “If he’d just trusted us—”

“He helped us get outta there,” Daryl points out.

“Yeah,” Lucy says and ekes the _ah_ sound out awkwardly, “right after he beat the shit out of you.”

Merle smirks at her. “We both took our licks, sweetheart,” he drawls bitterly.

“Hey,” Daryl growls low in his throat, “don’t you talk to her. Hell, don’t even look at her. Jackass.”

Lucy sighs as everyone starts yelling at each other and narrows her eyes at Merle behind her glasses. It occurs to her that he likes watching people at each other’s throats, because he gets off on sowing discord. “Okay,” she bites out, “that’s enough! Michonne, put your katana back in its saya. Glenn, lower your gun. Merle,” she adjusts her grip on her cane and gnaws on the inside of her cheek at the flare of pain in her ankle, “quit being an asshole. Rick, take his knife.”

“You heard her,” Daryl snarls at Glenn, “get that damn thing outta my face!”

Merle sniggers, an ugly sound. “Oh man,” he says, “looks like you’ve gone native, brother.”

Daryl snorts. “No more ’n you hangin’ out with that psycho back there,” he retorts.

Merle smirks wider. “Oh yeah, man,” he says. “He’s a charmer, I gotta tell you that.” Then he flicks his gaze to Michonne. “He’s been puttin’ the wood to your girlfriend big time, baby…” he turns to grin at Andrea and adds, “…ain’t that right?”

“Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Amy snaps at him, “don’t talk about my sister like that.”

Andrea swallows hard and looks Michonne in the eyes. “Look,” she sighs, “I was close to dying in the forest when Merle found us. Philip welcomed me with open arms. He made me feel special, and Woodbury felt like home. I love it there.”

Amy frowns at that. “You mean loved,” she says. “You loved it there.”

Andrea looks down at the blacktop so her hair falls into her face. “I still do,” she whispers.

“He sent Merle to kill me,” Michonne tells her, “wanted my head as a trophy.”

Andrea looks at her, pale eyes wide. “He wouldn’t…” she says and fizzles out because she knows Philip would. There’s no way those zombified heads in his fish tanks were anything but trophies, like the kind serial killers sometimes keep to remind them of their victims.

“So,” Merle drawls, “what’re you gonna do now, sheriff, huh? Surrounded by a bunch ’a liars, thugs, and cowards.”

“Shut up!” Rick snaps at him.

“Oh man,” Merle sniggers and shakes his head, “look at this. Pathetic. All these guns and no bullets in ’em—”

Lucy cocks the hammer of her .38 Special and shoves the muzzle up under his chin to shut his mouth. “I told you to quit being an asshole,” she reminds him viciously. “Shut the hell up and stop antagonizing my people, or not even my love for your brother is going to stop me from killing you. Got it?”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Merle flicks his gaze to Daryl before he lifts his arms in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

When the morning comes, Hershel sutures a deep laceration Allen got on his calf while running haphazardly through the woods. “You can take those stitches out yourself in a week or so,” he says as he cuts the last stitch.

“Thank you,” Allen says as the veterinarian bandages the wound.

“Pretty nice having medical training,” Tyreese chimes in.

“It’ll only get you so far,” Hershel says as Beth emerges from C block with Judith in her arms. Tyreese and Sasha both stand up and stare at the infant as Beth walks over to the stove to make her a fresh bottle.

“How old is the baby?” Sasha asks.

“She was born two days ago,” Hershel tells her.

“I never thought we’d see another baby,” Sasha murmurs almost reverently. “She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Beth says.

“How are you feeling?” Sasha wants to know.

“Oh!” Beth gasps and spins to look at her over her shoulder, wide-eyed. “She’s not mine,” she clarifies.

“Where’s her mother?” Sasha wonders.

“She’s dead,” Carl says flatly.

Julie is smart enough to deduce that Judith is his sister, that it was their mother who died. “I’m sorry,” she tells him.

“Man,” Tyreese shakes his head, “you people have been through the mill.”

Hershel shrugs and rises to his feet to follow his daughter back into the cell block. “Haven’t we all?” he points out.

“Things are only getting worse out there,” Tyreese says, “the dead are everywhere and it’s only making the living less like the living.”

Sasha nods as Axel walks over and puts a bowl of ramen noodles in front of her. “You’re the only decent folks we’ve come across,” she adds.

“You’ve been out there all this time?” Hershel asks even though he already knows the answer.

Julie hums, a soft _uh-huh_. “Our neighbor Jerry was a survivalist nut,” she explains, “everybody on the block thought he was crazy because he was always preparing for the end of the world.”

“Who knew?” Sophia mutters.

“Jerry knew,” Tyreese says, “he had a bunker under the shed in his backyard. Julie, Sasha, and I stayed there until we ran out of supplies. Allen and Ben were the first two people we ran into when we finally crawled up out of that hole in Jacksonville. Used to be a bunch of us, twenty-five at one point.”

“Our camp was overrun,” Sasha adds, “about six weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” Tyreese says and hangs his head, “and Donna, she…”

“We’ll make sure that she has a proper burial,” Hershel tells him solemnly.

Tyreese slumps his shoulder as a sigh of relief shakes out of him. “I appreciate you taking care of us,” he says, “for a while we didn’t know who we were dealing with.”

“Neither did we,” Hershel points out. “We’ve had our problems with people.”

“We wouldn’t be a problem,” Tyreese says.

“It’s not up to us,” Hershel tells him.

Tyreese frowns as Axel hands him a bowl of ramen noodles. “Then who?” he wants to know.

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_45 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

It’s fuck off o’clock in the morning by the time T-Dog, Nico, Glenn, Maggie, Anton, Michonne, Rick, and Daryl get sick of talking in circles about the problem at hand. Andrea, Amy, Toby, and Cath are back at the prison by then because they boosted a car from the parking lot of the auto parts shop by the highway and drove home. Lucy takes a nap in the passenger seat of the semi while the others argue over whether or not Merle should come back to the prison because she feels too freaked out to make a unilateral decision in the aftermath of learning the Governor is her biological father.

“It won’t work,” Rick mutters under his breath.

“It’s gotta,” Daryl retorts.

“It’ll stir things up,” Rick says.

“Look,” Daryl says and grits his teeth around the words, “the Governor’s probably on his way to our house right now. Merle knows how he thinks, and we could use the muscle.”

“I’m not having him at the prison,” Maggie bites out.

“You really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol, or Sophia, or Beth, or Jacqui?” Glenn asks. “I sure as hell don’t want him anywhere near my sisters.”

“Merle ain’t a rapist,” Daryl snarls at him.

“Well,” Glenn says, “his buddy is.”

“They ain’t buddies no more,” Daryl says, “not after last night.”

“Merle wouldn’t be able to live at the prison with us without putting everyone at each other’s throats,” T-Dog says.

“So we’re just gonna cut him loose?” Daryl shakes his head slowly. “Merle…” he swallows hard, “…he’s blood.”

“No,” Glenn retorts, “Merle is _your_ blood. Daryl, my blood—my family—is standing right here, and waiting for us back at the prison.”

“You’re part of that family,” Rick tells him in a hush, “but Merle’s not.”

“Y’all don’t know,” Daryl says and shakes his head again. “Fine,” he grits out, “we’ll fend for ourselves.”

“That’s not what I was saying,” Glenn says.

Daryl squints at Lucy as she emerges from the semi-truck and hobbles over to where they stand and hopes like hell that she won’t ask him to choose between her and his brother. If she asked, he would choose her without hesitation and he would hate himself for it. “Look,” he says gruffly, “no him, no me.”

Maggie narrows her eyes at him. “Daryl,” she says as he sets his jaw and stands his ground, “you don’t have to do that.”

Daryl swallows hard. “It was always Merle and me before this,” he mutters, “don’t ask me t’ leave him. I already did that once.”

“You serious?” Glenn asks in unadulterated disbelief. “You’re just gonna leave like that?”

“You’d to the same thing,” Daryl retorts, “if this was Gert or Gilda we were talkin’ about.”

“You should go,” Lucy tells him softly even though panic uncoils like a snake in her chest at the idea of being without him for however long it takes him to work out his shit. _What if this is the wrong call?_ she thinks. _What if the Governor brings his head to our gate?_

Daryl nods brusquely as his heart sinks and he starts to walk away from her, dragging his feet something awful. _I thought she’d tell me t’ stay_ , he thinks, _guess I had her all wrong_.

“Hey,” Rick says as Daryl goes to get his stuff out of the rig. “There’s gotta be another way. We started a war yesterday. You can’t just leave.”

“I told you,” Daryl mutters, “no him, no me. That’s all I can say. Take care of yourself,” he adds before he slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Take care of Little Asskicker, and Carl. That’s one tough kid.”

“Daryl!” Glenn shouts.

“C’mon,” Daryl says numbly and turns his back on them as Merle puts an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get outta here.”


	22. Under the Gun

**Whom do I call my enemy?**  
**An enemy must be worthy of engagement.**  
**I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking.**  
**It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind.**  
**The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun.**  
**It sees and knows everything.**  
**It hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing.**  
**The door to the mind should only open from the heart.  
**An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.****

Joy Harjo, “This Morning I Pray for My Enemies”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 22**  
Under the Gun

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After they eat ramen noodles for breakfast, Tyreese helps Allen shroud Donna’s corpse in a sheet and carry her body into the courtyard outside of C block. “Where’d they say we could bury her?” he asks.

“Out by the creek,” Sasha tells him, “underneath those maple trees.”

Tyreese nods and glances out through the fences at the forest. “Hey,” he says as Allen stomps ahead of him and Donna starts to slip out of his hold. “Wait a minute. I’m losing my grip here. Come on, put her down.”

Allen takes a step closer to the innermost fence and stares at Carl, Sophia, and Carol down on the patch of gravel by the outer gatehouse. “Okay,” he says, “golden opportunity.”

Sasha frowns at that. “For what?” she asks.

“Little kids and a woman,” Allen says.

Ben walks over to stand next to his father. “Ask them for a hand,” he says, “get ahold of those weapons.”

“Wait,” Julie says, “what?”

“We do it quick,” Allen says, “they’ll never know what hit them.”

“No,” Tyreese says flatly.

“We’re out here to bury Donna,” Sasha reminds him.

“We will,” Allen says, “after.”

Sasha huffs indignantly. “Shut up,” she tells him.

“Look at this place,” Ben says. “It’s secure.”

“These are good people,” Tyreese retorts. “We can’t do this.”

“It’ll be easy,” Allen says. “Little kids, a woman, a teenage girl and an old man—”

“Hey,” Ben interjects with a snort, “don’t forget about the convict.”

“You gonna smash the baby’s head with a rock?” Tyreese asks him with an edge of total disgust in his deep voice.

Allen glares at him and puffs up his chest. “What is your problem?” he snaps.

“How about some common decency?” Tyreese snaps back. “This isn’t what we do.”

“You’re living in the past, Ty.” Allen flicks his gaze to Sasha before he adds, “so are you. This is survival of the fittest, plain and simple: in here we live, out there we die. I’m not waiting around for the rest of their group to roll in here and throw us out on our asses.”

“Not a chance,” Ben says and bites down around the consonant.

Tyreese shakes his head in disappointment. “How do you know that’s gonna happen?” he asks.

Julie turns to look back over her shoulder at the sound of a metal door opening and sees Beth and Axel coming out of C block with shovels in hand. When they’re not looking, another blonde peeks out at the newcomers from the guard tower by the inner gatehouse.

“We’ve got some tools for you,” Axel says.

Tyreese glances at Sasha and they both move to take the shovels before Allen and Ben get their paws on them. “It’s much appreciated,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sasha says and puts on a smile to hide the nervous twist in her stomach. “We’ll take it from here.”

Axel looks down at the shroud on the slab of cement under their feet. “You don’t need no help with the body?” he asks.

“No,” Tyreese says. “We’ll manage.”

Beth ducks her head and nods. “Let us know if you need anything else,” she says.

“Thank you,” Tyreese says before Sasha puts a hand on her hip and they both turn to glare at Allen and Ben in warning. These people have been nothing but good to them, and he isn’t about to let them ruin any chance they might have of helping this group make a home out of this prison. Not a chance.

Parker glances at Eliot from where they’re sitting out of sight in the tower by the inner gatehouse, eavesdropping on the newcomers. It was Nate’s idea not to let them see most of their people that morning even though everyone but Lucy, Daryl, Nico, T-Dog, Rick, Glenn, Maggie, Anton, and Michonne are back by now. There’s no guarantee they’re going to take the newcomers in, and if they somehow end up over in Woodbury they can give the Governor misinformation.

“Medusa,” Eliot mutters over the radio, “we got a situation here.”

Lucy groans internally. “What’s wrong?” she asks him.

“Carl let a group of six people into the prison last night,” Parker informs her.

“One of them was bitten,” Carol adds, “but she died before we had a chance to give her your blood.”

“We let them out of the rear guard station in C block to bury her this morning,” Hershel murmurs.

Parker nods, a quick bob of her head. “Eliot and I overheard her husband and their son talking about killing us and taking the prison for themselves,” she deadpans.

“They haven’t seen anyone besides Carol, Sophia, Duane, Beth, Hershel, Carl, and Axel,” Eliot clarifies. “They don’t know we’re here, or that we’re keepin’ an eye on ’em.”

“What about the others?” Lucy wants to know.

“They shot ’em down,” Eliot says. “I recognize one of ’em. Tyreese Williams, former running back for the Falcons.”

Lucy frowns at that. “I know nothing about sports, Eliot,” she tells him matter-of-factly.

“Tyreese was an NFL player,” Hershel clarifies, “he’s the reason the Falcons won the Super Bowl in 1999.”

“Okay,” Lucy says and ekes the _oh_ sound out into an _ooh_ as she emerges from the semi-truck to tell Daryl that he should go off into the woods and Thoreau his life away. “We’re a mile out,” she informs them. “We’ll be home soon. Medusa out.”

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_45 Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

After they watch Daryl walk away with Merle and Lucy deflates to sit in the middle of the road and stops holding back her tears once they’re out of sight, Glenn turns to glare down at her. “You didn’t kill him,” he says.

“I stabbed him in the face after he tried to beat me to death,” Michonne says, “but I don’t think the shard of glass went in far enough to put him out of his misery.”

Lucy exhales in a soft wheeze and puts her glasses back on even though she hasn’t stopped crying because she’s overwhelmed by all of the shit hitting the proverbial fan. _I knew we were going to war_ , she thinks as Nico crouches next to her to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, _but on some level I had no way of comprehending what going to war would mean until last night. Oscar’s death is on me. Glenn’s injuries, Maggie’s assault…that’s on Merle and my biological father. Whom I have to kill, if Michonne stabbing him in the face didn’t kill him. How in the hell did I get here?_ “We didn’t go back to kill him,” she rasps.

“No,” Glenn retorts. “That’s right. You went back for Daryl, and now he’s gone and the Governor is still alive.”

“Daryl was the priority,” Rick says as Lucy sniffles and wipes her snot on the sleeve of her shirt.

“I should’ve been there with you,” Glenn says through clenched teeth.

T-Dog shakes his head. “You weren’t in any condition to fight,” he says. “You shouldn’t even be out here right now.”

“I should have been there,” Glenn snaps at him. “You have no idea what he did to Maggie—”

Lucy uses her cane to get back on her feet and narrows her bloodshot eyes at him behind her glasses. “You could barely walk,” she says.

“You can barely walk most days!” Glenn shouts. “You know what he did to her! You of all people should understand—”

“Leave it alone!” Maggie screams.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” Lucy hisses. “You’re making this about you, about how powerless you feel right now. You’re not paying attention to what Maggie wants, or what she needs. Your girlfriend was sexually assaulted. What happened to her wasn’t her fault or yours, and you need to stop making it about you. Your job is being here for her, not shouting at me because you blame yourself for not being able to protect her.”

“What about your boyfriend?” Glenn asks. “After all that effort, all the risk we took, Daryl just takes off with Merle? Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Merle told Daryl that nobody was ever going to love him or care about him except him, and he believed it,” Lucy informs him. “I know you’ve seen the scars on his back. Their father did that, but what Merle did to Daryl was actually worse in a way because emotional abuse is a whole other thing. There’s a steaming pile of crap that he needs to work through if he’s ever going to recover and he can’t do that back home, not with everyone resenting Merle and making Daryl feel like giving a shit about his brother makes him a traitor. I didn’t take his keys or his radio because Daryl is going to come back. After he spends a day or two alone with Merle, he won’t be able to ignore the difference between the brother who treats him like shit and the family who loves him unconditionally and he’s going to come back home where he belongs.”

Rick frowns at that. “What if Daryl brings Merle home with him?” he wants to know.

“Then we’re going to lock Merle in solitary confinement,” Lucy tells him with a yawn she muffles in the hollow of her palm, “and have Amy do a drug test to see if he’s been using meth. After this war is over, we can vote on whether he deserves life in prison or execution for what he’s done. I can’t be the one who orders his death or pulls the trigger, but…”

Glenn sets his jaw and folds his arms tight across his chest. “He’s not one of us,” he says impassively.

Maggie nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “He’ll never be one of us,” she murmurs.        

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips in a futile attempt to decompress. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound. “I also thought it would be a good idea to put Merle on the backburner, since Carl let five people we don’t know into the prison yesterday.”

“Carl did _what_?” Rick bites out.

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Nico drives the big rig up the gravel path to C block and parks in the courtyard by the innermost fence, built out of brick instead of chain link. Carol is waiting for them by the inner gatehouse with Sophia and Carl while Kate is out in the field watering the seeds they sowed. Rick kneels to scoop his son into a hug and holds him for a solid minute to restore his equilibrium.

“Where’s Daryl?” Carol asks.

Lucy sighs. “We left Woodbury with Merle,” she says, “and they went into the woods.”

Carol frowns at her. “You let him go off with _Merle_?” she asks, her voice pitching higher in distress and disgust. “You know how bad his brother is for him—”

Rick puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes his head. “It’s alright,” he says, “she had her reasons.”

“I did,” Lucy informs her with a sigh, “and I’m going to explain them after I talk to the people Carl brought in last night. Until then, I need you to get everyone and bring them to the library for a group meeting. Okay?”

Carol nods because she knows Lucy has been abused too and she wouldn’t send Daryl off into the woods with a toxic influence like Merle willy-nilly. “Sure,” she tells her. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Lucy sighs and slumps her shoulders before she hobbles into C block to meet the newcomers.

Rick goes to take Judith from Beth on their way inside. Anton helps Michonne sit in a chair in the cell where Andre sleeps in his crib before he picks up her boy and hands him to her. Cath and Toby are asleep in a cell upstairs, squashed on a twin-sized bed together. Parker, Eliot, Sophie, Nate, Morgan, Duane, Gert, and Gilda are outside on watch in the towers at the four corners of the outermost fence. Alec is still in his control room using the drones to put thousands of zombies in between the prison and Woodbury.

Hershel is waiting in the rear guard station to introduce Lucy to the newcomers. “This is Tyreese,” he says and glances at the black man in the knit cap, “his sister Sasha, his daughter Julie, their friend Allen and his son, Ben.”

Tyreese offers his hand to her for the shaking. Lucy cocks her head owlishly. “I have rheumatoid arthritis,” she informs him with an apologetic twist of her mouth. “I don’t do handshakes.”

“Hershel said you could use some extra hands,” Tyreese says. “We’re no stranger to hard work. We’ll go out and get our own food, stay out of your hair. If you’ve got a problem with another group, we’ll help with that too. Anything to contribute.”

Lucy adjusts her glasses and slants her gaze to Allen, who’s looking at her like he doesn’t think much of women in charge, especially mobility-impaired women in their midtwenties who look young enough to get carded at a movie theater. “Which of you had the bright idea to kill my people and take my fortress because you were afraid I would send you packing?” she deadpans.

Allen swallows hard and looks down at the concrete floor.

Lucy shifts her weight off her inflamed ankle before she smiles at him in the innocuously vicious way that doesn’t show her teeth. “Congratulations,” she says caustically, “you just became a self-fulfilling prophecy. There’s a town a few miles down the highway that will take you and your son in. I hope you make it there.”

“What about us?” Tyreese asks.

Lucy shrugs, one-shouldered. “You can leave with your friends,” she says, “or stay here. It’s your choice.”

Tyreese hesitates as Allen and Ben are escorted out of sight by Axel before he looks at his daughter. Sasha doesn’t have to think twice about it. “We want to stay,” she says.

Lucy smiles wider at that. _Famous last words_ , she thinks.


	23. Dissident Aggressor

**Given a choice between life and death,**  
**choose life.**  
**Given a choice between right and wrong,**  
**choose what’s right.**  
**Given a choice between a terrible truth and a beautiful lie,**  
**choose the truth every time.**

Mira Grant, _Blackout_

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 23**  
Dissident Aggressor

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Andrea watches Axel escort two of the newcomers out of C block through the upstairs window. “Where are they going?” she wants to know.

“Lucy’s sending them to Woodbury,” Amy informs her, “so they can give the Governor misinformation about the size of our group.”

Andrea turns on her heels and takes the stairs down. “I’m going too,” she says.

“No way,” Amy snaps at her. “It’s too dangerous. You know the Governor is a mass murderer—”

Andrea tries not to flinch at that. It’s not that she doesn’t believe Philip did the horrible things written in the notebooks Amy showed her, but the fact that she was so vulnerable to being manipulated by him makes her cringe now that she knows better. “Yeah,” she says, “but he doesn’t know that I know what a monster he really is. After everything that happened last night in Woodbury, chances are everybody was too busy securing the wall and dealing with the casualties of war to notice I was gone. I can sneak back in and talk to him, negotiate a ceasefire.”

“It’s a big risk,” Carol murmurs.

Andrea ducks her head and nods. “It’s worth the risk,” she says firmly. “I don’t want anyone else to die.”

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Andrea tells Lucy about her plan to negotiate a ceasefire with the Governor and waits at the prison until Allen and Ben are out on the highway with a drone keeping an eye on their movements before she pulls a Michonne and disarms a zombie to protect her on her way back to Perry Street on the roads less traveled. It’s easy as pie to sneak back in through the escape hatch Toby built, since the guards were all called to the front gate as reinforcements to keep the denizens of Woodbury from leaving town. After she goes through the motions of taking a quick shower and changes into fresh clothes, Andrea goes to check in with Milton. “How many injured?” she asks him.

“Nine,” Milton answers, “all with minor gunshot wounds. Dr. Stevens has it covered.”

Andrea nods. Milton has no guile in him. It’s possible the Governor knows she ran off with her sister and he hasn’t told anyone yet, but somehow she doubts that; he was too overcome by his grief and his thirst for revenge to pay attention to her as anything but an afterthought. Andrea is startled to realize that she didn’t come back to Woodbury for him—she came back for these people, to protect them from him. “So where is Philip?” she wants to know.

“In his apartment,” Milton informs her, “he wouldn’t open the door last night or this morning. Said he was in the middle of something,” he sighs as they walk down the street to where everyone is crowded in front of the gate. “It’s all going to hell.”

“Calm down, people!” Martinez shouts as families drive up with their bags packed in their cars and honk at the guards on the wall. “Back away!”

“It’s not safe here!” a woman named Karen with brown skin, frizzy black ringlets, and brown eyes gone wide with fear shouts back. “We want to leave!”

Martinez shakes his head. “There’s zombies out there, lady!” he points out loudly.

“Let us out!” a black man named Paul yells at him.

Martinez stops to kick an old man who tries to climb up the ladder onto the wall in the chest. “Get back!” he shouts. “Nobody leaves!”

Shumpert peers over the wall. “Martinez!” he calls back over his shoulder. “We’ve got zombies within range!”

Martinez stops on the topmost rung of the ladder. “Alright,” he says, “take ’em out.”

“It’s okay!” Andrea yells over the ricochet of gunfire, “everybody calm down!”

“We can’t stay here anymore,” Karen says urgently. “This place is crazy. Please, you have to get them to let us go.”

“It’s too dangerous out there,” Andrea tells her.

Paul scoffs at her. “Yeah?” he retorts. “We’ll take our chances.”

It’s a nightmare in broad daylight on Main Street as people yell in a cacophony of raucous uproar, the blare of the horns becoming more frantic until the guards aim their guns at the people in the cars.

Andrea holds up her hands as one of the guards on the road in front of the gate points a gun at her. “Hey!” she yelps.

“Hey!” Martinez shouts and stomps down the ladder, “knock off the horn!”

“Martinez!” Andrea shouts back at him, “put the gun down!”

“Get out of the car!” Martinez orders the man driving the vehicle idling closest to the gate and yanks open the door and hauls the terrified man out of the car.

“Martinez,” Andrea snaps, “don’t hurt him.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Martinez snaps back at her.

“These people are scared,” Andrea retorts, “and shoving your gun in their faces won’t help.”

“Where’s the Governor?” Martinez asks. “There’s a riot out here.”

“Yeah,” Andrea says, “and you’re only making things worse.”

“I am?” Martinez asks her, taken aback.

Andrea nods until Chloe Foster, a teenage girl who came to Woodbury with her father, screams from somewhere up the street. “What the hell?” she asks as she draws her Beretta and goes against the grain of the crowd to investigate the noise.

“Move!” Martinez shouts and sprints after her. “Get back!”

Andrea shoots a zombie with the last bullet in her clip and she has to reload before she kills the next one. Martinez guns another zombie down, but it’s too late. Richard Foster, Chloe’s father, was bitten.

“Oh my god,” Karen gasps and turns to look at Andrea with those wide dark eyes of hers. “Help him. Please do something.”

Andrea sucks in a sharp breath and flashes back to the night Dale was bitten, the night that Daryl had to put a bullet in his head because he was suffering. Problem is, Andrea has never killed anyone before. Not even out of mercy.

Only she doesn’t have to, Philip walks out of the apartment building across the street and shoots Richard in between the eyes before he walks back inside and slams the door behind him.

* * *

Andrea walks up the stairs to his apartment with the sound of her footsteps reverberating in her ears, although that could be ringing from shots they fired out in the street. There’s been no indication that he even noticed she wasn’t in town the night before, and that means he’s more broken than she thought. Which just makes him more dangerous. “What the hell was that?” she asks Philip. “You put a round in a man’s head in front of all those people and just take off?” she slams her hand on his desk hard enough to smart. “You have to talk to them.”

“Why?” Philip retorts.

“They’re panicking,” Andrea tells him. “They were ready to charge through the gate.”

“So let ’em,” Philip snaps at her before he turns and goes to grab the sheriff’s bag full of guns that he took from her the day she and Cath and Michonne arrived in Woodbury.

Andrea exhales a frustrated noise. “Those people won’t last a day,” she snaps back at him.

“Those people’ve had it easy,” Philip says and gnashes his teeth around the words, “barbecues and picnics. That ends now.”

“Don’t blame them for the mess that you created,” Andrea says. “They’re scared.”

“Well,” Philip grits out, “I’m through holding their hands. We’re at war. I should’ve seen that.”

Andrea folds her arms tight across her chest like she wants to give herself a hug. “So why was Daryl here?” she asks to see what lie he comes up with, “was he part of the assault? Why would he do that?”

“He came for his friends,” Philip informs her, “the other people you know. Glenn and Maggie?” he hurls both of their names at her like an accusation. “Merle scooped them up while he was on a run,” he adds, “was holding them to find out where his brother was.”

 _So that’s his game_ , Andrea thinks, _same as last night: put all the blame on Merle and pretend he had nothing to do with any of it_. “So you knew my friends were alive,” she says and swallows thickly as bile rises in her throat, “and now we’re shooting at each other?”

“Those friends of yours killed six good people,” Philip drawls caustically. “Crowley, Tim, Gargulio, Eisenberg, Bob, Haley. Rich makes seven. That’s what your friends did.”

Andrea tries and fails to force herself not to flinch at the glare he gives her when he tells her that Haley died the night before. “Why didn’t you tell me they were here?” she wants to know. “You kept that from me while we were in bed together?”

“You’re just a visitor here,” Philip murmurs, “just passing through. So why should I tell you?”

Andrea shakes her head. “Don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t drive me out—”

Milton interrupts their conversation with a knock on the door. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but the whole town is out in the street. It could get ugly again.”

Andrea watches Philip go back to cleaning his nickel-plated Beretta like he didn’t hear anything. _Fine_ , she thinks, _he doesn’t want to lead Woodbury? Then I will_.

* * *

Milton clears his throat awkwardly as the citizens of Woodbury gather on Main Street in front of the apartment building where the Governor lives. “Uh,” he stutters, “everyone, if I could…if I could have your attention…everyone—”

“Alright,” Martinez interjects with a shout, “everybody shut up!”

“Thank you,” Milton says and clears his throat again before he adds, “the zombies on the perimeter have been dispatched and the walls have been repaired.”

“Yeah,” Karen says, “for now.”

“Where’s the Governor?” Paul wants to know.

“Uh, his condition is…unsteady,” Milton says and fumbles to choose his words carefully, “the wound he suffered—”

“He shot Richard,” Karen retorts. “We’ve all suffered. We want answers.”

“You’re right, Karen.” Andrea sighs and steps in to make herself known as everybody starts talking at once. “You’re right that every one of us has suffered. We don’t even have funerals anymore, because the death never stops. We’re never going to be the same, ever. So,” she says, “what do we do? We dig deep, and we find the strength to carry on. We work together, and we rebuild. Not just the walls, the gates, the community, but ourselves—our hearts, our minds—and years from now when they write about this plague in the history books, they will write about Woodbury. We persevered.”

 _We will survive_ , she thinks as the townspeople around her nod and some of them even have the fortitude to crack a smile, _with or without Philip_.

* * *

_Tuesday, 19 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 311._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

When she hobbles into the library with Tyreese, Julie, and Sasha, Lucy finds Carol in the area now devoid of metal tables because they used them to fortify the caged or fenced-in parts of the prison complex with Sophia, Cath, Toby, Nico, T-Dog, Kate, Amy, Gilda, Gert, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Beth, Carl, Rick, Morgan, Duane, Jacqui, Nate, Sophie, Eliot, Parker, Alec, Michonne, Anton, and Axel waiting for their anxiety-prone but adaptable leader to arrive. Judith and Andre are down for their morning nap, but Rick has a baby monitor that he left on top of the circulation desk at maximum volume.

“Okay,” Lucy says and ekes the _oh_ sound out into a soft _ooh_ as she flops into a chair and crosses her legs around her cane. “There are three items on the agenda for this meeting. One: these newcomers are Tyreese, his sister Sasha, and his daughter Julie. When the meeting is over, someone needs to give them a grand tour of their new home, let them pick out cells to live in, give them some new clothes, and work them into the chore wheel that Cath made. Two: Daryl is gone, and I’m going to explain why. Three: we’re at war with Woodbury, and I know a secret about their Governor that even he doesn’t know.”

“What secret is that?” Sophie wants to know.

“I’m his daughter,” Lucy informs everyone as her anxiety claws at the back of her mind and thumps deep in the pulp of her heart. There was no way keeping this from them would’ve been the right call, but part of her is terrified they’re going to think they can trust her anymore—ironically—because of her honesty.

“What?” Glenn blurts out incredulously.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound, “his name is Brian Philip Blake. He goes by his middle name because it’s a Southern tradition, something my adoptive mother—my real mother—and her sisters did too because they were from South Carolina. He was born on June twenty-first in 1964, right here in Newnan. He played football in high school and he got a scholarship to the University of Washington to play for the Huskies in 1982. He met a half-Japanese girl named Genevieve Karasuma, a freshman in college at seventeen because she skipped kindergarten. He got her pregnant, and she told him on the night of a big game. He blew out his knee, transferred to the University of Georgia, and never talked to her again even though she kept trying to contact him because she was legally required to since she was giving her unborn child—his unborn child—up for adoption. I was that child,” she clarifies, “and it was a closed adoption. When I turned eighteen back in 2001, my adoption records were unsealed and I got a copy of the file in the mail. There was a letter that my biological mother wrote to me in the file, and in the envelope with the letter was a picture of her with my biological father. I never had a chance to meet either of them…”

“Until now,” Rick says.

“Yeah,” Lucy sighs. “Until now. I didn’t know who he was before I saw him yesterday, but him being halfway responsible for my existence doesn’t change anything. I had a great father pre-apocalypse, a father who danced in the hallway at the hospital the day I was born, a father who let me be my own person and make my own mistakes, a father who loved me even though sometimes I was an asshole. Roger Orville was my father. I don’t want to replace him, especially not with a monster.”

After that, Rick and Glenn explain all of the horrible things that happened in Woodbury to everyone in the room. It takes a while, especially since Tyreese and Sasha keep asking questions because they don’t have any context for the war or anything else that’s been going on. After she explains why she let Daryl go, Lucy hunches in her seat and exhales with enough force to flap her lips in a futile attempt to decompress as Cath braids the frizzy tendrils of her hair.

“Sounds like we have a problem on our hands,” Hershel says as soon as the conversation fizzles out and a palpable horror seeps into the air.

Nico snorts. “No shit,” she snarks.

“So what now?” Beth wants to know. “You think the Governor will retaliate?”

Maggie nods. “Yes,” she mutters.

“Let him try,” Glenn says.

“Sounds like he’s got a whole town,” Carol points out. “We’re outnumbered, if not outgunned.”

Lucy shrugs. “We still have one thing he doesn’t,” she murmurs.

Tyreese frowns at her in confusion. “What’s that?” he asks.

Lucy smiles, incongruously sweet and vicious. “We have me,” she informs him.


	24. Calm Before the Storm

**We are no longer sisters or daughters or sword swallowers but, instead,**  
**women. Who give, and lead, and take, and want,**  
**and want, and want, and want,**  
**because there is no shame in wanting.**

Rachel McKibbens, “Last Love”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 24**  
Calm Before the Storm

* * *

_Wednesday, 20 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 312._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

When the morning comes, Andrea hears a knock on her door and finds Philip on the other side looking like he’s seen better days. It’s hard to look at him because she can’t let him see that she knows Woodbury isn’t safe, or that she feels sick to her stomach every time she sees his face. Andrea has been in Woodbury for a week and a half, but that was all the time it took for this man to turn her against the woman she loves, to offer her everything that she thought she wanted on a silver platter only to lie about everything that actually matters to her. If he’d found Amy before her sister found her, he probably would’ve tortured her for information and ordered Merle or Martinez to execute her and their friends—all while pretending everything was hunky-dory to her face and trying to get her in his bed again.

 _It’s not your fault_ , Lucy had told her. _What he did to you. It wasn’t your fault. We’ve been relying on the kindness of strangers ever since things fell apart. How were you supposed to know he was no good?_

 _Michonne knew_ , Andrea had pointed out. _Cath did, too_.

 _Cath was psychologically abused by a guy she dated back in high school and she’s had trust issues since then_ , Lucy had retorted. _Michonne was too angry at the world to trust anyone, including you. I get why you couldn’t see him for what a monster he really is. You almost died. You wanted to live and thrive instead of fighting to survive. You picked the wrong guy. I’ve been there. I would never fault you for any of that. I’m pissed that you spilled the immunity beans to him, but only because he seems like the kind of guy who’d lock me up in a cage and order his mad scientist to vivisect me. I’ve given Rick a lot of shit, but even though he’s not a good leader he’s still a good guy. I was lucky to end up with people like him, people who’d never violate my bodily autonomy as a means to consolidate power_.

 _I’m sorry_ , Andrea had said. _I’m going to make things right_.

 _No_ , Lucy had said, _you have nothing to apologize for. If you’re going back to Woodbury because you think putting yourself in danger is going to make things right with me, or Glenn, or Maggie, or Daryl, or Michonne, don’t. Only go back to protect those people from the Governor and make things right for yourself_.

Philip manipulated her from the first moment they met: he saw that she wanted emotional intimacy from Michonne that she wasn’t getting, he drove a wedge between them until Michonne left, he gave her a shoulder to cry on and told her about himself in a very calculated way because Philip had a pretty good idea that she would make the first move after he gave her what she thought she wanted. Andrea was an easy target for a guy like him in the aftermath of the eight months in the post-apocalyptic wasteland starving and struggling to survive. If she’s going to make things right for herself, she needs to stay vigilant.

“May I?” Philip asks.

Andrea nods and lets him in, keeping up appearances that he doesn’t have the power to come in whether she invites him or not.

“That was quite a speech you gave,” Philip murmurs, “exactly what these people needed to hear.”

Andrea folds her arms tight across her chest. “What about the prison?” she wants to know.

Philip shrugs. “Well,” he says, “as long as they leave us alone, we have no problem.”

Andrea has to force herself not to roll her eyes at him because now that she knows what a monster he really is, she can see that he’s full of shit. “So,” she says, “no retaliation?”

Philip shakes his head. “Where would that get us?” he asks.

Andrea nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “I need to go see them,” she tells him softly.

Philip exhales a quiet huff of rueful laughter. “I thought Woodbury could be something else,” he says in that bittersweet voice of his, “something better. I wasn’t up to the challenge and I screwed it up. I’ve done some terrible things. I’m not fit to lead these people,” he says and holds her gaze before he adds, “but you are. After all, they don’t need to be terrorized. Certainly not by their own leader.”

Andrea narrows her eyes at him. _I can’t believe this_ , she thinks, _he’s doing it again: seeing right through me and offering me exactly what I want. Well, I’m not falling for it. I won’t make the same mistake twice_. “So you’re abdicating?” she asks dubiously.

Philip looks away. “I really believed that if I kept my daughter alive long enough that Milton would find a…” he swallows thickly and looks her in the eyes before he says, “…I just need time to get myself together.”

Andrea bites her lip and frowns, the space between her eyebrows furrowing. _There’s no way this is for real_ , she thinks, _if he really wanted me to lead in his place he would be making a speech in front of the whole town right now to let them know that someone else was going to be in charge. Which can only mean that he’s hiding something from me._ “So you want me to fill in for you?” she asks as he sinks onto the couch and looks up at her mournfully.

“Who else can?” Philip asks her. “Milton? Martinez?” he scoffs and shakes his head before he rises to his feet. “If you choose your friends at the prison I’d understand,” he murmurs, “but these people need you. I…” he clenches his jaw and looks into her eyes, “…we need you.”

 _There it is_ , Andrea thinks as he walks out of the room and shuts the door behind him, _he needs me? Bullshit. What he needs is a bullet in the head_.

* * *

_Wednesday, 20 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 312._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_The Dark Forest._

* * *

Daryl had to wrap his set of keys to the locks at the prison in his red bandana to keep them from clanking and scaring any game worth hunting in these woods away, and he can’t stop thinking about what Lucy said. _You should go_ , not _leave and never come back home again_. _You should go_ , not _I’m dumping your worthless ass_. Hell, she didn’t take his radio either. It’s still in the back pocket of his jeans, waiting.

Merle always left, and he always came back into his life at the worst possible time. Daryl couldn’t have friends that weren’t Merle, couldn’t date anyone seriously because his brother needed a wingman, couldn’t have anything that was just his without Merle screwing it up for him. Karen, his ex from almost thirteen years ago, was a single mom with a six-month-old son named Noah. Daryl had wanted to marry her, wanted to give being a father to that kid a shot—but then Merle showed up on the doorstep of his crappy apartment. After his brother said he was in deep trouble with some drug cartel, Daryl had broken up with Karen because he didn’t want her or Noah anywhere near that shit; and he was still helping Merle work off his debt to those sorry pricks when the world ended. Merle just being here now is messing with his head, making him doubt himself and the woman he loves even though he has no logical reason to doubt her—or himself, for that matter.

 _Lucy ain’t nothin’ like Merle_ , Daryl thinks, _she’d never make me choose between her and the other people I care about. That’s why I’d choose her every time_. “There ain’t nothin’ out here but mosquitoes and ants,” he mutters out loud as his brother pisses on the trunk of a tree.

Merle zips up his pants and steps back. “Patience, little brother,” he says. “Sooner or later, a squirrel’s bound t’ scurry ’cross your path.”

Daryl shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, “even so, that ain’t much food.”

“More ’n nothin’,” Merle points out.

“We’d have better luck goin’ through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff,” Daryl retorts and aims a bolt at nothing.

“That what your smart-mouthed little girlfriend taught ya’?” Merle asks. “How t’ loot for booty?”

Daryl growls low in his throat. Merle has tried to pick a fight with him about Lucy so many times he’s lost count by now, and he’s uncomfortably aware that he’s outgrown his older brother. There was a time when he would’ve fought back, would’ve been just as petty and pissed off as his brother is. Only now he can’t even begin to compete with how much of a jackass Merle is, because he’s been so damn happy without his brother around to bring him down. Lucy makes him happy, makes him feel better. Only he can’t stop feeling guilty about that because he can’t bring himself to regret leaving his brother in Atlanta ten months ago, and because even now he wishes he was back home with Lucy instead of out here in the woods with Merle. “We’ve been at this for hours,” he sighs in a futile attempt to unclench. “Why don’t we find a stream, try t’ look for some fish?”

Merle scoffs at him. “I think you’re just tryin’ t’ lead me back t’ the road,” he says, “get me over t’ that prison.”

Daryl shrugs again with forced nonchalance. “They got shelter,” he murmurs, “food, a pot t’ piss in. Might not be a bad idea.”

“Yeah,” Merle grumbles, “for you, maybe. There ain’t gonna be no damn party for me.”

Daryl almost says everyone would get used to each other, but he knows better. Glenn and T-Dog and Jacqui shouldn’t have to put up with Merle, just like they shouldn’t’ve had to put up with the racist shit that both of them had been spewing back at the quarry. Hell, he tried to kill Michonne the other day. There’s no way she’s going to want him anywhere near her or her little boy, and Daryl can’t even blame her.

“They’re all dead anyhow,” Merle continues. “Right about now the Gov’nor’s probably hostin’ a housewarmin’ party and he’s gonna bury what’s left of your new friends.” Then he shrugs that off and spits a massive wad of saliva into the dirt before he struts off in the direction of the creek. “Let’s hook some fish,” he says. “C’mon.”

* * *

_Wednesday, 20 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 312._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Nico has been scrapping the frames of the clunkers Gert boosted from the highway and the beds in the cell blocks using a reciprocating saw they scavenged and soldering the pieces to make sheets of metal they’re using to fortify the fenced-in parts of the prison and the guard towers. It doesn’t make things bulletproof, but thick chunks of metal have stopping power that wooden pallets don’t. Unfortunately the slab of concrete they poured in between the outer fences two nights ago is still curing, so they can’t pour any more without screwing up the structural integrity of the wall in the longterm. It’s only halfway to the barbed wire on top of the fence, but that’s better than nothing.

Glenn unrolls the map of the prison on top of a table in the guard station at the front end of C block. Lucy has been using her highlighters to color-code the types of defenses in place in neon ink: bright red for the brick wall around the complex, orange for the ouroboros of trenches they dug around the outermost fence, yellow for chain link, green for chunks of metal, blue for concrete. “Our weak point is the front gate,” Glenn says and taps a spot on the map outlined in phosphorescent yellow, “it’s just chain link, and even though zombies can’t get through it would be a cakewalk for armed men.”

“Why are we even so sure he’s gonna attack?” Beth asks. “What if you scared him off?”

Lucy snorts. “I made him look bad,” she murmurs, “confronting him at dusk in front of his men and forcing him to give up Glenn and Maggie by threatening to bring every horde within a hundred miles to his door. There’s no way he was going to let that stand, even if six of his people hadn’t gotten caught in the crossfire during the extraction.”

“He also had fish tanks full of heads,” Michonne points out shrewdly, “trophies. He’s coming.”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly. “Wait,” she says, “you stabbed him with a shard of glass from one of those fish tanks, didn’t you?”

Michonne nods. “He had it coming,” she mutters.

Lucy snorts. “He only had himself to blame,” she deadpans.

“If you’d’ve been there,” Cath says. “If you’d’ve seen it, I betcha you would’ve done the same…”

“We should hit him now,” Glenn says and stops the tone-deaf rendition of “Cell Block Tango” before it starts. “He won’t be expecting it. We’ll sneak back in and put a bullet in his head.”

“We’re not assassins,” Carol retorts.

“Well,” Eliot says, “technically I was.”

“You know where his apartment is,” Glenn says and turns to look at Michonne. “You and I could end this tonight.”

Hershel shakes his head slowly. “He didn’t know anyone were coming last time and look what happened,” he points out. “Oscar was killed and Daryl was captured.”

“You can’t stop me,” Glenn snaps at him.

“Think this through more clearly,” Hershel snaps back, “this isn’t worth any more killing.”

“We can’t kill him,” Lucy says matter-of-factly. “I need his blood.”

Kate frowns at her. “What the hell do you need his blood for?” she wants to know.

“Michonne stabbed him in the eye with glass from one of his fish tanks,” Lucy explains, “fish tanks full of water contaminated with zombie blood and saliva.”

Amy nods as comprehension dawns and slants her gaze to Michonne. “You exposed him to the live state zombie virus,” she clarifies.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound. “If the Governor survives that, he’s immune—like me. I don’t think of myself as his daughter because he didn’t raise me, but we have some of the same genes. I need blood and tissue samples from him to eventually sequence both of our genomes and find the genetic mutation that causes natural immunity to both strains of the virus. There’s no other biological parent and child that are both immune. We can’t kill him until I get what I need for my research. If immunity is hereditary, I need to know.”

Amy nods again, succinctly. “I know you’re mad as hell right now,” she tells Glenn, “but this is bigger than what the Governor did to Maggie, or what he’s been doing to Andrea. It’s about saving what’s left of our species.”

Glenn swallows hard as Maggie turns and walks back into C block to her cell. “Fine,” he bites out before he goes after his girlfriend to talk things over with her.

Lucy exhales a soft whoosh of air. _It’s only a matter of time before the Governor comes to huff and puff and blow our house in like the big bad wolf_ , she thinks. _All I have to do is keep the wolf out, and keep my people alive_.


	25. Blood Red Skies

**Your brother has clearly given up,**  
**the sun is bound to lose its grip on the horizon,**  
**and when it does, the sky will burn red.**  
**It will be something you understand.**

 **Search the road for something dead—**  
**to remind you that he is still alive,**  
**that you are ungrateful—**  
**a skunk whose head is matted to the faded asphalt,**  
**intestines ballooning from a quick strip**  
**of black and white like a strange carmine bloom.**

 **“This is what it’s like,” you’ll say aloud,**  
**“to be splayed open,”**  
**but you will mean,**  
**_This is what it’s like to rest_.**

Natalie Diaz, “How to Go to Dinner with a Brother on Drugs”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 25**  
Blood Red Skies

* * *

_Wednesday, 20 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 312._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Glenn steps into their cell to find Maggie in bed facing the stone wall, curled up like a question mark. It hurts to see her so miserable and not be able to help her or make her feel better.

 _How did you get better?_ he’d asked Lucy. _After it happened to you?_

 _I didn’t talk about it for almost two years_ , Lucy had told him. _I talk about it now because I feel better every time I speak up, like I’m taking back everything that my rapist took away from me. When my sister was raped, she didn’t tell anyone until she told me almost two decades later and she never wanted to talk about it again_.

 _So_ , Glenn had said, _you think she needs to talk about it? Or she doesn’t?_

 _I’m saying that nobody copes with the trauma of being sexually assaulted in exactly the same way_ , Lucy had told him. _Maggie needs to figure it out for herself, to find her own way. All you can do is be there for her while she recovers_.

When he asked Gilda about it, she just shrugged and told him that it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to violate her—being a model pre-apocalypse and being a trans woman meant dealing with a higher risk of predatory and violent behavior from cis men who felt entitled to her body and simultaneously resented her because transmisogyny. Glenn had been horrified by the idea of anyone doing anything to hurt his twin, but he hadn’t known what to say to that.

Still, not talking about this isn’t helping and he can’t just stand around doing nothing while the woman that he loves is miserable. Glenn clears his throat awkwardly. “Hey,” he says, “are we gonna talk about this? Maggie…” he swallows thickly, “…you need to talk about it.”

“I do?” Maggie asks him tersely. “Or you do?”

Glenn frowns at her. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asks. “I’m worried about you—”

“What do you want me to say?” Maggie wants to know. “You want me to say he made me get naked and stand in front of him? That he came up behind me, pushed himself up against me, put his hands all over me, slammed my head down and bent me over a table?”

Glenn sucks in a sharp breath. “Maggie,” he whispers, “did he…?”

“No,” Maggie clenches her teeth around the word _No_ as she sits up and looks at him with anger in her green eyes, “he didn’t rape me. I told you that,” she says and sighs before she asks, “do you feel better now?”

“I’m not trying to make myself feel better,” Glenn says.

“I had a choice,” Maggie tells him softly, “either I take off my shirt or he would take off your hand. I had just listened to Merle beating the shit out of you in the other room. What could I do?”

“I’m sorry,” Glenn says. “Maggie, I’m so sorry—”

“Just go away,” Maggie snaps and shoves him hard enough to make him stumble as he tries to put his arms around her, “you got your answer. Now go away.”

* * *

_Wednesday, 20 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 312._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_The Dark Forest._

* * *

Daryl had forgotten how exhausting Merle is, how he triggers the kind of fatigue that seeps into your skin and digs down deep into your bones. It’s deadbeat tired, something he can feel in his marrow.

“Smells t’ me like White Oak Creek,” Merle says to break the silence as they get closer to the sound of water under a bridge.

“We didn’t go east enough,” Daryl retorts. “There ain’t no river here. It’s gotta be the Yellowjacket.”

“You have a stroke, boy?” Merle scoffs at him. “We ain’t never even come close t’ Yellowjacket.”

“We didn’t go east,” Daryl mutters, “just a little bit south. That’s what I think.”

“Y’know what I think?” Merle says. “I may’ve lost my hand, but you lost your sense of direction.”

Daryl snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see.”

“Whaddya wanna bet?” Merle asks him.

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. “I don’t wanna bet nothin’,” he says gruffly. “It’s just a body of water. Why’s everythin’ gotta be a competition with you?”

“Take it easy, little brother.” Merle sniggers and swipes at his nose with the back of his left hand. “I’m just tryin’ t’ have a little fun here. No need t’ get your panties all in a bundle.”

Daryl frowns at the wailing noise echoing softly though the trees. “You hear that?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Merle says, “wild animals gettin’ wild.”

Daryl squints through the trunks of the spindly trees and lets his ears prick up. “No,” he says, “it’s a baby.”

“C’mon,” Merle scoffs and shakes his head slowly. “Why don’t ya’ just piss in my ear and tell me it’s rainin’, too? Daryl, that there’s the sound of a couple of ’coons makin’ love, sweet love,” he grins as he humps the air. “Y’know what I mean?”

Daryl stomps off in the direction of the noise more out of spite than anything else. Merle has been steering him wrong their whole damn lives, and he’s not going to put up with that shit anymore. _I keep tellin’ Lucy she needs t’ trust her instincts more often_ , he thinks, _guess it’s time for me t’ trust mine_.

There’s a bridge over Yellowjacket Creek and a horde of zombies is shambling across it, drawn by the sound of baby crying its eyes out. Daryl squints at them from below and sees a guy so ash blond and so pale that he looks like one of the alien kids from _Village of the Damned_ all grown up and a black-haired, brown-skinned girl yelling words that sound like obscenities in a language he thinks might be Spanish. Midwich Cuckoo fires what looks like his last bullet and climbs on top of a flatbed, drawing a bush machete to chop at the zombies from above while the girl shuts herself in their car with the baby.

“What?” Merle says incredulously as Daryl runs to save their asses. “Hey!” he shouts and runs after him, “I ain’t wastin’ my bullets on a couple of strangers that ain’t never cooked me a meal or felaciated my piece! That’s my policy. You’d be wise to adopt it, little brother!”

Daryl shoots one of the zombies on the bridge with his crossbow and runs through his limited supply of bolts as Merle catches up with him. These people don’t seem incompetent, but they’re horribly outnumbered by the horde and neither of them are immune. Daryl gets a closer look at the Midwich Cuckoo and he seems kind of familiar, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on that while he kills the remaining zombies with his hunting knife. When he yanks one of the undead fuckers out of the car, he catches a glimpse of their Mexican license plate before he slams the door to the trunk down on its skull. Merle puts a bullet in the head of one shambler and struts over to the car. Daryl runs to stab the last of the undead fuckers in the head and kicks its rotting corpse into the creek down below.

“Hey!” the Midwich Cuckoo yells as Merle starts rummaging through the bags in their backseat and the baby starts bawling. “Get the fuck away from my car!”

Merle narrows his eyes at him and nonchalantly aims his gun at the pale man. “Slow down, son,” he drawls “That ain’t no way t’ say thank you.”

“If you touch my wife or my daughter,” the Midwich Cuckoo retorts, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Ahora,” his wife snarls, “¡vete al infierno y lejos de mí, bastardo!”

“Speak English,” Merle says.

Daryl glares at his brother. “Let ’em go,” he growls.

“C’mon,” Merle says, “the least they can do is give us an enchilada or somethin’, huh? Hey,” he says as the woman in the passenger seat glowers at him, “easy now, señorita…everythin’ is gonna be fine.”

Daryl clenches his jaw and nocks a bolt to take aim at his brother. “Get outta the car,” he says with slow vehemence.

“I know y’ain’t talkin’ t’ me, little brother,” Merle says in a sharp tone of voice with an edge of menace.

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils as a frustrated noise unfurls in his throat. “Get the hell outta the car,” he says, “and go wait for me over by that flatbed.”

Merle throws a tantrum by dumping their bags out of the backseat onto the ground, but he goes quietly.

Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and turns to look at the Midwich Cuckoo. “Sorry ’bout that,” he mutters, “my name’s Daryl Dixon, and that jackass is my big brother, Merle.”

“I’m Neeley,” the Midwich Cuckoo says, “Neeley Orville, and this is my wife, Dulcie. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but…” he shrugs and cocks his head before he adds, “…your brother’s kind of throwing off my groove.”

Daryl narrows his eyes at him. It’s a long shot, but this kid has the same last name as Lucy and judging from the plates on that car they must’ve driven all the way here from south of the border. Lucy had a brother named Cornelius who married a girl from Puebla, Mexico. There’s no way this is all a coincidence. “You got an older sister named Lucy?” he asks.

Neeley gapes at him. “Wait a minute,” he says. “You know my sister?”

Dulcie rolls down the window to stare at him with a glimmer of hope in her brown eyes. “Lucy is alive?” she asks, “¿dónde está?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, “she is. Lemme go talk t’ my brother for a minute and then I’ll take you t’ her.”

Neeley shrugs, one-shouldered. “Our car broke down,” he informs him. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Daryl nods brusquely and walks over to where the jackass is waiting before he drags his brother into the woods for a semblance of privacy. If they’d bet on what creek this was, he would’ve won. There’s a sign that says _Yellowjacket Creek_ off to one side of the bridge in their wake.

“What the hell’re you doin’?” Merle asks, “you helpin’ people outta the goodness of your heart even though you might die doin’ it? That something your new friends taught you?”

Daryl almost explains his sexually transmitted immunity to the zombie virus, but he doesn’t want to waste any more time with his brother. Lucy’s younger brother showing up out of nowhere with his wife and their little girl is a goddamn wakeup call. If the Governor is going to attack the prison, he needs to stop fucking around out here and go home. “There was a baby!” he snarls.

“Oh,” Merle scoffs, “otherwise you would’ve just left ’em t’ the zombies, then?”

Daryl heaves a long-suffering, bone-deep sigh. “I went back for you,” he retorts. “You weren’t there. I didn’t cut off your hand, neither. You did that. Way before they locked you up there on that roof. You asked for it.”

Merle laughs and it falls out of his mouth like ashes. “Y’know what’s funny t’ me?” he brother asks. “You and those people are like this now,” he twists his index finger up around his middle finger before he adds, “right? I betcha a penny and a fiddle of gold that you never told ’em that we were plannin’ on robbin’ that camp blind.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. “Lucy knows,” he mutters, “but it don’t matter ’cause it didn’t happen.”

“Yeah,” Merle says, “it didn’t happen ’cause I wasn’t there t’ help you.”

Daryl swallows hard because his brother was never around to help him, not when he needed him most. “What, like when we were kids, huh?” he growls, “who left who then?”

“What?” Merle screams in his face. “That why I lost my hand?”

“You lost your hand ’cause you’re a simpleminded piece of shit!” Daryl screams right back at him.

“Yeah?” Merle shouts and grabs him by the collar of his shirt. “You don’t know! I…” he stops as the shirt rips at the seams and he sees the scars on his brother that mirror the ones their father put on his back. “I didn’t know,” he says, “I didn’t know he was—”

Daryl puts the backpack he was carrying on to cover up the scars. “Yeah,” he says and his voice shakes as he rises to his feet, “he did. I know he did the same t’ you. That’s why you left first.”

“I had to,” Merle says. “I would’ve killed him otherwise.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says gruffly. “Well, maybe you should’ve.”

“Where’re you goin’?” Merle shouts after him.

Daryl chokes on his unshed tears and turns to face him. “Back to the woman I love,” he says. “Back where I belong.”

“I can’t go with you,” Merle says and something in his voice shatters like broken glass. “I…I tried to kill that black bitch. I damn near killed the Chinese kid.”

“Glenn’s Korean,” Daryl retorts.

“Whatever!” Merle says. “It doesn’t matter. I just can’t go with you.”

Daryl shakes his head slowly. “Y’know,” he calls back to his brother over his shoulder, “I may be the one walkin’ away, but you’re the one who’s leavin’…” he swallows hard before he grits out, “…again.”

* * *

_Wednesday, 20 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 312._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Alec frowns at the screen as two of his drones go offline and taps his earpiece. “Medusa,” he says, “some hinky shit is going on. I’ve lost two of our eyes in the sky and—”

“He’s here,” Eliot cuts in. “He’s with Shumpert in a Humvee they parked outside the northeast wall. He just gunned down Axel through the fence. Shot him in the head.”

Lucy rises to her feet and goes to strap on her bulletproof vest. “Get a grenade launcher,” she orders. “Get to one of the towers and blow his getaway car to smithereens. I need everyone inside sweeping the main complex to see if any of his people are trying to take us out from within.”

“I found a guy with a gun,” Parker informs her with a grunt as she puts the perfect amount of pressure on his windpipe, “I’m putting him in the sleeper hold Eliot taught me and locking him in a cell for later.”

“Okay,” Lucy says, “everyone outside needs to take cover. Get to the guard towers and use the arsenals we stashed in the gatehouses if you can, but don’t take risks if you can help it.”

“I’m outside the northeast wall!” Rick shouts over the ricochet of gunfire as Martinez shoots at him and he runs across the bridge to take cover in the overgrown grass and weeds by the trench they dug, “I’m gonna try to take ’em out! If nothing else, I can draw their fire until they’re out of ammo.”

Lucy props her cane against the wall of the library and winces as she puts her weight on her inflamed ankle. _Eliot, Kate, Cath, Toby, Morgan, Duane, Jacqui, Glenn, Gert, Gilda, Nate, and Sophie were on watch_ , she thinks, _so they’re already in the guard towers. Michonne, Anton, Axel, Carol, Sophia, Carl, Julie, Tyreese, and Sasha were fortifying different parts of the prison. Nico and T-Dog are still in the machine workshop. Amy is downstairs in the infirmary. Hershel is out in the fields with Harley. Beth and Maggie went for a walk in the courtyard while Judith was napping, so they’re probably the most vulnerable. All we have to do is make sure they don’t breach_ —

“Medusa,” Kate yells at her over the radio from the inner gatehouse, “one of the Woodbury combatants just drove a van through our front gate!” Then she pauses to shoot the driver in the head before she adds, “the van was full of zombies!”

Lucy turns and runs downstairs without bothering to grab her cane as Romy whines and boofs unhappily because she slams the door behind her. _This is his plan_ , she thinks as she careens past Amy to slam bodily into the medical fridge, _I threatened to destroy everything he’s built so he’s planning to destroy everything that I’m trying to build here_ , she grabs a unit of blood and dumps it into the tank of a fireman’s backpack, _fat chance_.

Amy runs out of the infirmary with her to cover her while she puts on the fireman’s backpack and hobbles out into the courtyard in front of the innermost gate. There are dozens of zombies shambling out into their fields. Michonne slices and dices the horde with her katana while Harley barks and growls at the fresher ones. Hershel tries to thin the herd by shooting them, but he and Michonne are outnumbered and neither of them are immune.

Lucy crawls onto the hood of the van and bites down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood as she climbs over the mangled gate and up onto the roof in spite of how heavy the fireman’s backpack is, how much gravity is conspiring against her in that moment.

“What the hell is she doing?” Philip murmurs and narrows his only eye at her.

Lucy extracts a recording device from the pocket of her skirt and holds it up to her mouth. “Type O negative weaponized blood,” she says, “dilution ratio: whatever one unit of blood to five gallons of water is, dispersal method: fireman’s backpack, field test one.”

When she holds the hose attached to the backpack and flips the switch, the force of the water spouting out like a liquid missile is enough to almost knock her on her fat ass. Lucy grits her teeth and tries to brace herself even though her ankle is screaming at her. _Après moi_ , she thinks as the zombies in the field drop like bags of rotten flesh and bones into the dirt, _le déluge_.

Lucy turns the hose off as soon as the water in her tank has gone dry. There are no more zombies in the fields, just bodies. When she turns to smile at Amy over her shoulder, the sound of gunfire blooms in the blood-soaked air. Daryl runs out of the woods by the creek at the other end of the northeast wall in time to witness the Governor take aim with his assault rifle and shoot her in the chest.

“ _No!_ ” he screams.


	26. Painkiller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : There is smut in the last scene of this chapter, specifically Daryl eating Lucy out in the aftermath of approximately 3,000 words of plot because I’m incorrigible. **Beware**.
> 
>  **Additional Tags** : Rough Kissing, Frottage, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus.

**I illuminate my darkest secrets:**  
**the amount of times I’ve resisted the urge to hold your hand,**  
**many;**  
**the hateful words I’ve constructed,**  
**plenty;**  
**the worth I had when you slipped and pulled my hand to the pavement,**  
**pennies;**  
**and as you remove your vest and hang it up**  
**on the rack closest to my aorta**  
**I want you to know that my heart is your home.**

Lucas Regazzi, “Untitled 8”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 26**  
Painkiller

* * *

_Wednesday, 20 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 312._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After the Governor retreats into the forest with Martinez and Shumpert because Eliot blew up their getaway car, Glenn drives the prison bus to block the open gateway and keep the zombies that haven’t fallen into the trenches around the fence out of the yard while Amy clambers onto the roof of the van and sees the librarian splayed out awkwardly with a hose slithering around her.

“Ow…” Lucy groans as Amy yanks the straps of her fireman’s backpack over her arms so she flops onto her back.

“Okay,” Amy says as she unstraps the bulletproof vest from around her shoulders and waist, “the bad news is that you were shot in the chest, but the good news is that you’re still the luckiest person left in the world.”

“I don’t feel lucky,” Lucy deadpans with a wince and resists the urge to add _do I, punk?_ to the end of her sentence. “I feel like I just took a bullet. Which I did.”

Amy rolls her eyes and starts palpating the sides of her chest to see if any of her ribs are broken. Daryl runs up the gravel path and climbs over the ruins of their gate to crouch next to Lucy on the roof of the van, huffing and puffing while he takes her hand in both of his because he lost his breath somewhere on his way back to her.

“Daryl…” Lucy mumbles and smiles at him in spite of the pain in her chest as he squeezes her hand and hunches to kiss her fingers, “…you came back to me. I knew you would.”

“It’s okay,” Amy tells him, “the bullet didn’t even break the skin. There’s no hemothorax or pneumothorax, either.”

“What the hell’re those?” Daryl asks her because he knows fuck all about medical terminology that isn’t relevant to the immunological research Lucy and Amy are doing.

“Collapsed lung or a buildup of blood in the pleural cavity,” Lucy informs him as her brother echoes the same answer from the gravel below. When she hears a voice that she never thought she would hear again, the librarian frowns so hard she scrunches up her whole face. “Corny?” she says incredulously.

“Hey, sis,” Neeley says and waves jauntily as Amy peers at him from on top of the van.

 _Well_ , Lucy thinks, _at least this long-lost relative is someone that I’m happy to see_.

“I thought you said your name was Neeley,” Daryl says as Cath yanks the blond into a hug that he returns by lifting her up until her feet dangle off the ground for a few seconds before he lets her go.

“Yeah,” Kate says, “their mom named Lucy after Lucy Westenra from _Dracula_ and Neeley after Cornelius Nolan from _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_.”

“Lucy’s the only person who calls him Corny,” Nico adds.

“I’m his big sister,” Lucy points out, “it’s my prerogative to call him by a nickname that he hates.”

“Sure,” Neeley says and shakes his head as a grin unfurls on his face. “Whatever you say, Lucy Goosey.”

Lucy makes a garbled noise that sounds like the bastard offspring of a honey badger and a garbage disposal in the back of her throat and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as her chest throbs with another stab of pain.

“We need to get her to the infirmary,” Amy says, “she could be hemorrhaging internally. I need to take an X-ray and give her an ultrasound since we don’t have a MRI scanner.”

Daryl nods brusquely and stops holding her hand to scoop Lucy up into his arms. “I got her,” he says and starts to climb down as she hooks an arm around his neck. There’s worry coiling tight in his gut like a snake, but the scent and softness of her calms him down while he carries her into the infirmary and puts her on the cushy exam table.

Lucy strips out of her dress and he swallows hard at the sight of the vivid bruise flourishing in the pale freckled hollow between her breasts. “Rick is going to lock Merle in solitary confinement on my orders,” she informs him through clenched teeth and flops to lie back on the table as Amy goes to grab the portable X-ray machine, “the only way he comes into our house is as a prisoner of war.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils and pulls up a stool to sit by her side. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “I figured as much.”

“So,” Lucy mumbles and ekes the _oh_ sound out as she sits up while Amy takes posteroanterior films of her chest and wheels the machine around to the other side of the table before she takes lateral films, “you’re okay with that?”

Daryl shrugs and cups her plump face in one hand so his calloused fingertips skim the nape of her neck. When she turns her head to kiss the heel of his palm, he strokes her cheek with the rough pad of his thumb and hunches to kiss her soft and tender and slow. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything he hasn’t had a chance to put into words yet, _I missed you_ and _I love you_ and _I ain’t never gonna leave you_. When she breaks the kiss and grits her teeth in pain, he nuzzles her forehead with his before he pulls back to give her a modicum of space. “Merle’s dangerous,” he says, “no one knows that better ’n me. I think he’s still usin’, too. When we was out in the woods, he had no idea where we were goin’ even though we know he’s been in the area for months now. I think the Gov’nor must’ve had that scientist of his cookin’ up meth for him, t’ make him more loyal.”

Lucy struggles to unclasp her bra and rolls onto her stomach with her breasts still in the satin cups. “I think we have a drug testing kit somewhere with a meth panel,” she says and tries not to wince at the pressure being facedown puts on her chest, “you’re going to have to get Merle to pee in a cup to prove your theory, though.”

Amy groans as she uses the probe to spread ultrasound gel on her back. “I’m going to have to run that drug test on his urine sample, aren’t I?” she asks.

Lucy shrugs. “I took a bullet,” she deadpans. “I’m not taking Merle’s piss, too.”

Amy sighs. “Okay,” she warns the librarian, “you only get to lord the whole ‘I took a bullet’ thing over us for so long, especially since you’re not even bleeding internally beyond the ruptured blood vessels under your skin that are causing the contusion on your chest.”

Lucy slumps her shoulders as Amy wipes the ultrasound gel off her back. “I bet my ribs aren’t broken or fractured either,” she says. “I have freakishly strong bones. There was a guy I sparred with in the dojang one time who forgot to wear his foot guards, and I broke four of his toes because he kicked my fist.”

Daryl snorts and flicks his gaze the slub of scar tissue nestled in the corrugation of her knuckles, a memory of where that guy’s toenails had dug into her skin. Lucy is big-boned in the sense that she’s never broken anything, unless you count the arthrodesis that was done on her wrist because they had to break the bones during the surgery to make her bleed. “I found your brother out by the Yellowjacket,” he murmurs and helps her refasten the clasp of her bra with his deft fingers, “you know he has a baby?”

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound as she puts her dress back on and flops to lie down on the exam table. “Rita was five weeks old pre-apocalypse. I can’t believe they drove all the way here. It’s seventeen hundred miles from Puebla to Newnan, approximately.”

“Which is approximately three thousand kilometers,” Neeley says and grins at her from the doorway before he adds, “you look pretty good for someone who just got shot. So,” he walks into the room as Amy goes to find Hershel so they can look at the films together, “apparently you’re in charge here.”

“Yup,” Lucy echoes and ekes the _uh_ sound out into a yawn. “I’m also immune to the zombie virus.”

Neeley gapes at her. “Wait,” he says, “you’re what now?”

* * *

It takes most of the afternoon for Lucy to explain things to her brother: her immunity, her research, how Vera had died horribly and how she could’ve saved her if she’d known back then what she knows now, the quarry, the farm, the Hampton Inn, the storage units, hitting the road, the prison, and the war with Woodbury that has escalated to the point that her biological father—who still has no idea she’s technically his daughter—shot her in the chest with the intention of killing her.

“Hold up,” Daryl says and squints at her incredulously, “the Gov’nor’s your _dad_?”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound, “and he might have the same natural immunity to the virus that I do. Michonne exposed him to the live virus two days ago. If he’s not dead by tomorrow…”

“Then he’s immune,” Daryl mutters, “and we’re gonna kill him.”

Neeley doesn’t seem as horrified by that as most people might’ve been pre-apocalypse, but driving almost two thousand miles in the post-apocalyptic wasteland in the hope of finding your sister only to witness a man trying to gun your sister down has that effect. “I’m going to check on Rita,” he says and rises to his feet, “come and meet her if you feel up to it.”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. After he married Dulcie, they moved to Puebla because it was cheaper to live in Mexico than anywhere in the states. Neeley was planning on bringing Rita to meet their side of the family at Thanksgiving, but that didn’t happen because of the global outbreak. “I’m dying to meet her,” she deadpans. “Just let me pop some pain meds.”

Neeley puts an arm around her shoulders to squeeze her into a quick and painless hug before he walks out of the infirmary. “¡Hasta luego!” he calls back at her over his shoulder.

Kate takes him walking out as her opportunity to walk in and folds herself onto another stool at the foot of the exam table. “How’s the gunshot wound?” she asks.

Lucy shrugs. “It hurts,” she mumbles, “but my sternum and ribs are still intact and my internal organs weren’t damaged.” Then she adjusts her glasses and hunches to muffle a yawn in the hollow of her palm before she forces herself to look her friend in the eyes. “What’s going on with our people?” she wants to know.

“It was that guy Allen who drove the van through the gate,” Kate informs her. “Tyreese and Sasha buried him next to his wife. It was his son that Parker found trying to sneak in here. Rick is interrogating him now. Glenn put the bus in front of the outer gateway to keep the zombies out of the yard so they don’t ruin our crops. Nico is scrapping the van and using the metal to engineer a stronger gate, one they can’t just break down willy-nilly.”

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips. “Andrea was supposed to negotiate a ceasefire,” she murmurs, “but I’m guessing the Governor wants to see this war through to the bitter end. If he’s anything like me, he’s not going to compromise and that means he’s not going to stop until we’re all dead.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to kill him,” Kate says, “not until you take blood and tissue samples for your research.”

Lucy shrugs. “I need to know if immunity is heritable,” she clarifies, “because if it’s an autosomal recessive trait we can pass it on to our offspring and if it’s not, then any hope of a cure dies with me and Rick. There’s no point in making a vaccine with my antibodies if immunity isn’t heritable. I’m trying to save the human race, not create a generation of synthetic immunity that dies with me.”

Daryl squints at her, scrutinizing. “What’s that mean?” he asks.

Lucy extracts her listography notebook from her pocket. “Okay,” she says, “we know immunity isn’t a dominant trait, because only two—or possibly three—people that we know of have it. Alec hasn’t been able to transmit his immunity to Parker like I transferred mine to you through fluid exchange, because his system has learned to replicate my immunoresponse but he doesn’t have the genetic code for immunity programmed into his cells like I do. If you had sex with someone else, you wouldn’t be able to transmit your immunity to them either. If you and I had children,” she adds as she draws him a diagram of how autosomal inheritance works, “the chances of them inheriting my immunity would be one in four. Penny, the Governor’s other daughter, could’ve either been a carrier of that autosomal recessive trait or born without the immunity gene altogether. If his samples prove that immunity is genetic, I can find a way to clone the immunity gene and synthesize it into the genomes of everyone who doesn’t have it. Forget a vaccine,” she says and puts her notebook back in her pocket, “this could be the immunological equivalent of a nuclear strike against the zombie virus.”

“You can do that?” Kate wants to know.

Lucy cocks her head owlishly. “It’s basic genetic engineering,” she says. “When I took biology in undergrad, I learned how to genetically modify bacterium with restrictors to make the bacteria more responsive to various forms of stimuli or less prone to replication. I also learned how to isolate a genetic component using electrophoresis in high school. After extracting my genetic material and cultivating bacterial colonies using plasmids and restriction enzymes to create a gene library, I’d clone the recombinant DNA containing the immunity gene and find a vector to modify the genomes of everyone who isn’t immune. I’d need to read every book I can find on genetic modification and specialized biotech equipment from a genetic engineering lab, but it can be done. I just didn’t have a way to prove that it might work in this context until now.”

Daryl frowns, the space between his eyebrows furrowing while he processes the implications of that. “You won’t know if any of that is possible unless the Gov’nor lets you take samples from him,” he observes.

Lucy hums her answer, a soft _mm-hmm_. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound, “until I get samples from him and get a look at his genome and mine—something I can’t do without a genetic sequencer, a machine that we don’t have—I won’t be able to see if immunity is autosomal or not. This is all theoretical and it could be a dead end, but if it’s not…” she fizzles out on the consonant and shrugs, “…it could be nothing short of revolutionary.”

* * *

After she meets her niece and goes to check on the fortifications, Lucy hobbles into the library to find Daryl sitting on their bed with his feet on the floor and hunching over so his elbows are on his knees. “I thought ya’ broke up with me,” he murmurs as she props her cane against the wall, “that’s what I thought ya’ meant when ya’ told me t’ leave.”

Lucy shuffles over and flops to sit next to him as she exhales a soft whoosh of air. “No,” she tells him, “I would never break up with you because you care about your brother. I just thought you needed time alone with him to work your shit out. I’m sorry that I didn’t make myself more clear, but I was freaking out because of the whole Governor thing and everyone was screaming at each other and I decided the most efficient way to defuse the situation was for you to leave and take Merle with you.”

Daryl nods brusquely and turns to look at her over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “ya’ were right about everythin’. Merle…” he swallows hard and takes one of her hands in both of his, “…he ain’t never gonna change. Not ’cause he can’t, but ’cause he don’t wanna.”

Lucy ducks her head to nuzzle the curve of his shoulder and lets him tuck her under his sinewy arm to pull her flush against his side. “I know you thought he might be able to change because you did,” she says, “but you aren’t like him. Merle, from everything you’ve told me, has always been selfish. Not to mention incapable of taking responsibility for his mistakes. I don’t think he’s ever apologized to you, or anyone. Not like how you apologized to Glenn, or T-Dog, or Jacqui for the racism or how you apologized to everyone for being a short-fused asshole while you were detoxing. Merle would’ve never gone out looking for Sophia and me and Jacqui like you did, and he sure as hell wouldn’t’ve risked his life to bring us home.”

 _When we were kids_ , Daryl had said, _who left who then?_

 _I had to_ , Merle had told him. Not _I’m sorry for leaving you alone with our asshole dad_. Not _I’m sorry he beat the shit out of you_. Not _I’m sorry I wasn’t there_. No apology. Nothing.

Lucy buries her face in the crook of his neck and he can feel the hard plastic frames of her glasses, the soft curve of her cheek. “I wanted to talk to you so badly,” she mumbles, “because it turns out that my biological father is a monster and no one knows how it feels to have a monster for a dad better than you do. I can’t stop thinking about nature and nurture, about how much of me is him—”

Daryl tangles one of his hands in her hair and tugs to tilt her face up so he can kiss her hard enough to stop her mouth. When she moans softly and kisses him back, she ends up half in his lap and he has to stop himself from pulling her closer and putting too much pressure on her chest. Daryl breaks the kiss and pulls back to look her in the eyes. “Y’ain’t nothin’ like him,” he says with slow vehemence. “You hear me, darlin’?”

Lucy bites her lip and nods before he lowers her onto her back. Daryl crawls on top of her, careful to keep his weight on his elbows and knees. Lucy makes it hard, figuratively and literally, by hooking one of her legs around his waist and tipping her hips to grind against him.

“I missed you so much,” Daryl whispers and nuzzles the delicate skin of her throat while he frots his hips into hers to feel the heat at the apex of her soft thighs, “the way you smell, the way you _taste_ …”

Lucy moans at the rough scrape of his stubble on her skin, the sting of his teeth nipping at the flesh of her neck. It’s sweet but sharp, the uncouth way that he kisses her. Which is exactly what she needs. “Orgasms are natural painkillers,” she points out, “the release of dopamine, endorphins, and serotonin temporarily bolsters our pain thresholds.”

Daryl snorts. “You don’t gotta tell me twice,” he drawls and hauls her up so he can pull her dress over her head before he scoots back and spreads her thighs apart.

Lucy is wearing black leggings dotted with yellow and white daises, and Daryl strips her out of them slowly without taking her panties off. When he spreads her legs wide open and rubs his face against the crotch of her underwear, she whimpers at the slow wet slip of his tongue over her slit through the satin. Daryl flicks his tongue up the plump crease of her from bottom to top to swirl teasingly around the swollen nub of her clit, sucking on the fabric to taste the slick of her arousal. When her panties come off, her pussy _throbs_ and that makes her squirm even though it hurts to move so abruptly. Lucy exhales a soft noise through her nose as Daryl spreads the plump lips of her labia with his calloused thumbs and dips his tongue into her hole.

“I missed you too,” she whispers and he digs his fingers into the flesh of her voluptuous hips to hold her down while he licks as deep inside of her as his tongue can go and hums something unintelligible against the shine of her.

Daryl groans low in his throat because the glut of her is thick and heavy, like honey on his tongue. Lucy tastes smooth and rich, like top shelf whiskey that he never could’ve afforded before all this. When he sucks on her clit, she clutches at his hair and makes an overwhelmed litany of sounds in the back of her throat. Lucy comes like a flood, slapping one of her hands over her mouth to muffle a scream as she squirts and shudders under him. Daryl clenches his jaw and makes a guttural noise as his cock twitches and he comes in his jeans, still feeding on her with his mouth and gorging on her sweetness.

 _Hell of a homecomin’_ , he thinks and kisses the flab of her belly as the muscles under her skin flutter like wings.

Now there’s no doubt in his mind, if there ever was: here, with her, is where he belongs.


	27. All the Way

**Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s**  
**got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see**  
**what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay. It’s a love story**  
**after all, a lasting love.**

Richard Siken, “You Are Jeff”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 27**  
All the Way

* * *

_Thursday, 21 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 313._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

_There’s a Latin phrase_ , Lucy thinks as she hobbles down the stairs into the underground level of the prison, _ad extremos morbos, extrema remedia—for extreme diseases, use extreme remedies. It’s the root of the proverb “desperate times call for desperate measures.” I know these are desperate times_ , she yawns before she hobbles into the cell where they put Merle to find Daryl and Rick inside with a very pissed off prisoner, _but I’m not desperate enough to trust the word of this asshole over my own instincts. I just need to know what he knows, and then I never want to see that smug face of his again_.

“Y’all should’ve slid outta here last night and lived t’ fight another day,” Merle says and strains his arms to test the strength of the rope intricately tied in knots from his wrists to his shoulders to keep him seated in the chair, “but ya’ lost that window, didn’t ya’? I bet he’s got scouts on every road outta this place by now.”

Lucy rolls her eyes at that because they still have ten drones and they’ve been using the zombies in the area to keep the scouts from Woodbury away, but Merle doesn’t need to know about that.  _When the Governor came and broke down our gate he was trying to terrorize us_ , she thinks. _It was a scare tactic, plain and simple. Otherwise he would’ve spilled more blood. Now he thinks we’re terrified and he has a horror story to tell his people: that he went to negotiate with us and we threw a grenade at him. Which_ , she thinks as she props her cane against the stone wall, _kills two birds with one stone. It keeps the people of Woodbury afraid to leave town, and gives us every reason to agree to his terms of our surrender. Trouble is, we’re not afraid of him_.

“We ain’t scared of that prick,” Daryl tells him sharply.

“Y’all should be,” Merle retorts, “that van through the fence thing, that’s just him ringin’ the doorbell. Y’all might have some thick walls t’ hide behind, but he’s got the guns and the numbers, and if he takes the high ground ’round this place? Shoot, he could just starve us out if he wanted to.”

“There is no us,” Rick snaps at him.

Lucy folds herself into the empty folding chair across from him with Daryl standing behind her to show his brother where his loyalties lie, if push comes to shove. “Nico is building us a stronger gate,” she murmurs, “ironically by scrapping that van. We have enough nonperishable food and potable water to last us months in the other cell blocks. We’re not scared, or struggling, or starving. Blake has lost eight people in the crossfire, and four people have defected from Woodbury including you. It’s only a matter of time before he loses control of his town, before the rest of those people start to realize they’re not safe. Which isn’t going to take anywhere near as long as trying to starve us out would.”

Daryl nods brusquely. “We know he’s afraid ’cause of the shit he pulled yesterday,” he says, “he wanted us runnin’ scared but instead he got a glimpse of what he’s up against. We ain’t givin’ this place up without a fight.”

Lucy sighs. “Blake isn’t just looking for a fight,” she points out, “he wants revenge on Michonne for killing his zombified daughter. What he did yesterday was probably meant to scare us into agreeing to his terms of our surrender, and I bet you by golly wow that he’s going to ask us for her life in exchange for an uneasy coexistence.”

“Nah,” Merle drawls. “When the Gov’nor returns, he’s gonna kill me first. Michonne next. Then you, little brother. Then all your friends. Glenn, T-Dog, whoever else is left. He’ll save ya’ and Rick for last so y’all can watch your family and friends die ugly. That’s who you’re dealin’ with.”

Lucy rolls her eyes at him again. “I never said Blake was going to honor the terms of our surrender,” she points out, “or that we were planning on surrendering at all. What you’re failing to grasp is that his scare tactics didn’t work. Blake thinks he has us where he wants us, but he doesn’t. Which,” she says and bites down on the _ch_ sound, “gives us the tactical advantage.”

“Then what the hell’re ya’ talkin’ t’ me for?” Merle asks sardonically. “Since ya’ seem t’ have everythin’ figured out, ’n all.”

Lucy shrugs. “I thought you might know something we don’t,” she says, “you were his right-hand man, his weapon of choice for killing people who wanted to leave Woodbury and keeping their deaths quiet.”

“Those people were infected,” Merle snarls at her, “they were gonna die anyway. I made it quick, didn’t let ’em turn.”

Lucy snorts. “I hate to break this to you,” she says, “but pretty much everyone is infected with the latent waterborne strain of the zombie virus and an acute or dormant infection isn’t fatal. Those people you killed weren’t bitten or scratched, were they?” the gobsmacked look of pure horror on his face tells her everything she needs to know. “Blake _lied_ to you,” she murmurs, “he _used_ you. Those people weren’t exposed to the airborne strain of the virus, they just wanted to leave town.”

Merle swallows hard. “Wait,” he says, “how d’you know his name?”

Lucy shrugs again, one-shouldered. “I’m a librarian,” she deadpans. “It’s my job to know things.”

* * *

_Thursday, 21 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 313._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Milton had wanted to spend the morning in his lab, but instead Philip has him doing clerical work: going over the town records and drafting their citizens into the war they’re apparently fighting now against the so-called terrorists who shot up Main Street a few days earlier. There’s a lingering feeling of wrongness in his gut, worry that losing his daughter has consumed Philip the way that losing his wife Jocelyn had two years ago. Penny got him through that dark time, but now she’s gone and Philip is rapidly deteriorating into someone more intolerably cruel than before—he’s making guard duty and weapons training mandatory for all of their able-bodied citizens over the age of eighteen, for starters.

“How many people does that give us now?” Philip asks.

“Eighteen,” Milton informs him. “We have several people with chronic conditions, hearing impairments, arthritis. Adding those gives us twenty-six.”

“What about men and women age thirteen and up?” Philip wants to know.

Milton frowns at that and turns to look at Philip over his shoulder as his friend gets a bottle of water out of the fridge. “You mean boys and girls?” he asks.

“Adolescence is a twentieth century invention,” Philip retorts, “they’re men and women.”

Milton sighs and flips through the records again. “Thirty-five,” he says.

“Well,” Philip murmurs, “make sure they all have sidearms and plenty of ammo. We’ll start training when Martinez is ready.”

Andrea interrupts him by opening the door without knocking and walking into his apartment with a flare of anger in her eyes, a frown spiraling down in the corners of her mouth.

“Well,” Philip says and drags the _l_ sound out sarcastically, “come in.”

“What’s this I hear about a shootout at the prison?” Andrea snaps at him. “I thought you said you were going to leave them alone. No retaliation.”

“I went to negotiate,” Philip tells her smoothly, “bad enough that we’ve got zombies at our gates. We can’t have aggressors just miles away.”

“So you went and welcomed them to the neighborhood?” Andrea retorts. _Bullshit_ goes unspoken, not unheard.

“You know they shot at us?” Philip says and shakes his head before he pops his pain medication into his mouth and chases the pills with a swig of water. “I don’t know who these people were when you were with them, but they’ve changed—they’re bloodthirsty.”

Andrea turns to shoot an accusatory look at Milton. “You knew about this?” she wants to know.

“I was informed this morning,” Milton tells her mildly, “I didn’t know about it at the time.”

Philip sighs. “Hey,” he says, “don’t drag him into it.”

Andrea turns back to glare at him. “You’re right,” she says, “this is between you and me. I’m sick of this—sick of the _lies_ —and I’m not going to watch this town full of terrified people and my friends gun each other down.”

Philip walks out from behind his desk to sit at the table underneath the undulating fan hanging from the ceiling. “Well,” he says, “it’s too late.”

“What do you mean it’s too late?” Andrea frowns, her forehead crumpling up incredulously. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but enough is enough. I’m going to see them,” she says and puts her hands on her hips as she looks down her nose at him, “I’ll work something out.”

Philip folds himself into a chair and sifts through the stacks of paper that Milton left behind when he left the room to give them a semblance of privacy. “Well,” he says, “they’re hostile. These,” he adds and holds up a few loose sheets of paper, “are all the able-bodied people we have, and they’re going to carry arms and receive training. We won’t get caught sleeping again.”

“One car,” Andrea tells him, “that is all I need.”

Philip shakes his head slowly. “We barely made it back yesterday,” he says, “they’re using drones to bring zombies here and block the roads.”

Andrea turns her back on him to roll her eyes without being seen. _I can do what Michonne did_ , she thinks, _use zombies to walk among the horde unseen. I can even do that without a car_.

Philip narrows his only eye at the tension threaded through the line of her shoulders, the arch of her back. “Andrea,” he warns her, “you go to that prison, you stay there.”

* * *

_Thursday, 21 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 313._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Lucy sends in Sophie to interrogate Merle because a grifter might be able to get information out of him that he wouldn’t give to the sheriff who cuffed him to the rooftop back in Atlanta or his little brother or his little brother’s snooty girlfriend—his words, not hers. Nate eavesdrops on the interrogation from the hallway and Eliot stands guard by the doorway to the cell in case Merle somehow gets out of the ropes binding his arms. Lucy hobbles back upstairs and muffles a yawn in the hollow of her palm as Daryl puts a hand on her shoulder to take her aside into the breakroom at the front end of C block, his palm rough and warm against her skin.

“How long’re you plannin’ on leavin’ him locked up?” he asks.

Lucy sighs. “I think life in prison is the least he deserves in light of everything he’s done,” she murmurs, “but it’s not up to me. I’m going to call for a vote once this war is over to decide his fate: imprisonment or banishment. Until then, we’re going to monitor him to keep him from dying of meth withdrawal.”

“Those ain’t the only options,” Daryl says.

Lucy adjusts her glasses and looks him in the eyes. “Yes they are,” she says, “unless you want me to add execution to the list. Merle is an unrepentant white supremacist who’s been complicit in mass murder. If the Geneva Conventions were still a thing, his crimes against Glenn and Maggie would be classified as grave breaches. I don’t trust him, and neither do you.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. “You’re right,” he tells her softly, “but even after everythin’ he’s done Merle’s still my brother. I don’t think we can trust him, but I don’t wanna lose him neither.”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly and puts one hand on his face to skim the small cut on his cheek that has scabbed over since that night in the arena with her thumb. “I was never really close with my brothers,” she says, “but for you Merle was always too close for comfort even though he wasn’t anywhere near you most of the time. When you were growing up, he got into your head and he still has a hold on you. I’m worried the longer he stays here, the more you’re going to forget how much better off you are without him.”

Daryl swallows hard and nuzzles his cheek against her palm, her soft fingertips. “I chose you over him,” he says gruffly, “back at the quarry. I ain’t gonna forget that I made the right choice.”

Lucy shakes her head slowly. “You didn’t choose me over Merle,” she murmurs. “You broke the cycle and chose yourself.”

Daryl nips the heel of her palm and holds her gaze while he brings the inside of her wrist to his mouth to scrape his teeth over where her pulse thrums under her skin. Lucy blushes from her ears to the hollow of her throat as heat shoots down her spine. Daryl kissing her lower extremities shouldn’t be a turnon, but apparently she finds the strangest things sexy as long as he’s doing them. When he backs her up against the counter and puts his hands on either side of her, Lucy expects him to go in for a kiss. Daryl buries his face in her hair instead, inhaling deeply through his nose and nuzzling the soft frizz. Lucy fumbles with the handle of her cane and puts her other arm loosely around his neck as her knees go weak. Daryl hunches but he doesn’t kiss her so much as suck on her bottom lip before he gently bites down to drag a moan out of the back of her throat.

Lucy slants her mouth up against his to kiss him desperately. It’s like a coil has sprung in her chest, the ache of wanting him dangerous and raw and unfurling. Daryl grunts and slips his tongue into her mouth to curl around hers and kiss her deeper.

“Marry me,” he whispers after he breaks the kiss to press his forehead against hers.

Lucy abruptly opens her eyes. “What?” she whispers back and bites down on the consonant as her voice pitches higher in disbelief.

Daryl puts one hand on her face and pulls back to look her in the eyes, his gaze so intense that she almost wants to shy away out of habit. “Marry me,” he says in a low drawl with a nervous rasp lurking in the hoarse words.

Lucy narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses. It’s obvious that he didn’t plan on proposing, but saying no because of that would probably crush him. Lucy doesn’t want to turn him down anyhow because their relationship is a ride or die kind of deal and being married to him sounds good to her, but she doesn’t want him to regret popping the question in the heat of the moment. “I’m not going to say yes now,” she tells him softly, “ask me again when the war is over.”

“That ain’t a no,” Daryl points out shrewdly.

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek and bites her bottom lip before she looks up into his eyes again. “I deserve better than a spur of the moment proposal in a backroom with no ring,” she informs him matter-of-factly, “ask me again if and when you’re sure.”

Daryl squints at her, scrutinizing. “You’re the only thing I’m sure of,” he says gruffly. “You oughta know that much by now.”

Lucy smiles at him in the shy way she has that makes his heart stutter deep in his chest. “I know,” she tells him sweetly, “and I want to marry you. I just also want you to propose like you actually put some thought into it. I don’t need diamonds, or a fancy dinner or a bed of roses or any of that romantic shit, but I do need—”

Daryl nods brusquely. “I can do better,” he drawls. “Just you wait.”

Lucy adjusts her grip on her cane before she goes on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, to lick his wounds. “I love you,” she says and hopes like hell that it’s enough to get them through this.

“I know,” Daryl says. “I love you, too.”


	28. Judas Rising

**You can’t kill me**  
**because I’m made of light.**  
**You can’t kill me because**  
**you need me to tell the story later.**  
**I have chosen to stay and fight.**  
**I have chosen to run like a girl.**  
**I run from victim**  
**to fugitive**  
**to hero.**

Daphne Gottlieb, “Final Girl X: The Final Girl”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 28**  
Judas Rising

* * *

_Thursday, 21 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 313._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Andrea dawdles in front of the gate, trying to see a way through. Woodbury has been on high alert ever since the shootout: they’ve doubled the number of armed sentries on the wall, they’re drafting teenagers like Karen’s asthmatic fourteen-year-old son Noah to fight a war that never should’ve been started. Philip, in his grief, is gunning for people who won’t go down without a fight. Lucy doesn’t start fights if she can help it, but she is the kind of person who finishes the fights that other people are dumb enough to start with her—or anywhere near her. Andrea knows her well enough to dread what might happen to these people if the situation ends up escalating to another armed assault on the prison.

“We sealed it thoroughly,” Milton informs her and inclines his head to indicate the gate. “Nobody is getting in, or out.”

Andrea sighs and puts one hand on her hip as she turns to look at him. “I’m going to ask you something,” she says, “and I need you to be honest with me.”

“Okay,” Milton says woodenly and looks at her like a rat caught in a trap.

Andrea narrows her eyes at him. “When he took the fight to the prison,” she says, “you swear you didn’t know anything about it?”

Milton shakes his head. “I wouldn’t advocate a move like that,” he tells her matter-of-factly. “It’s just posturing.”

Andrea nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “Good,” she says, “then you have to cover for me. I’m going to the prison, and Philip can’t know.”

“Please don’t put me in this situation,” Milton says.

“I have to,” Andrea says. “I wish there was another way.”

“If he finds out…” Milton whispers.

“That’s a chance we have to take,” Andrea says and cuts him off.

“Maybe you do,” Milton retorts, “but I don’t. I can’t.”

Andrea makes a frustrated noise and goes after him even though he’s trying to walk away from her. “Look at what’s happening,” she says. “Woodbury has become an armed camp, with child soldiers—is that what all your work is for? Please help me get out of here. I just need to sneak out, make my way over to the prison—”

“This is a betrayal,” Milton whispers and hisses the sibilants.

Andrea shakes her head so fast she almost discombobulates herself. “No,” she whispers back, “it’s an attempt to stop all of this before more people get killed.”

* * *

Karen corners the blonde as she walks back up Main Street. “I heard what you said to Milton just now,” she says in a hushed voice, “that you’re leaving.”

Andrea sucks in a sharp breath and gulps to swallow the lump of panic that forms in her throat. “Karen,” she says, “it’s not what you think—”

Karen snorts and shakes her head. “Spare me,” she hisses. “I’m not going to rat you out to the Governor, because you’re taking me and my son with you.”

“Wait,” Andrea whispers and narrows her eyes suspiciously, “you’re defecting? Why?”

Karen shrugs because fifteen years ago she was a tattoo artist at a shop in Tallulah Falls and she met a redneck who wanted two demons inked on his back, a man that she thinks is more trustworthy than the Governor ever was even though he broke her heart. It’s not a story that she likes to tell, even though she fell out of love with him a long time ago. “I have my reasons,” she says.

* * *

Milton walks up the stairs to knock on the door of the office that his oldest—and, if he’s being honest with himself, his only—friend occupies. There’s something ominous about the blades of the ceiling fan whirring in the room, the record spinning on the turntable even though it has no more songs to play.

“Come in,” Philip says in a voice taut with pain and hunches over in front of the mirror on top of his dresser.

Milton shuts the door behind him with a creak before he speaks. “You asked me to keep tabs on Andrea,” he says as he fidgets with his fingers, “she’s going back to the prison and she has requested my assistance in escaping—her words, not mine.”

“So help her,” Philip tells him.

Milton frowns, the space between his eyebrows furrowing. “Okay,” he says warily, “do you really want me to do that, or is this some sort of test?”

Philip huffs out a quiet gust of ugly laughter. “If she asks for help,” he murmurs, “help her. Hell, go with her and find out what was in that pink water they used to kill the zombies we dumped in their yard. I’m sure you don’t want to waste an opportunity to meet the only person that we know of who’s immune to the zombie virus, either.”

Milton nods, slowly. “I would very much like to meet her,” he says fervently.

“Oh,” Philip says almost as an afterthought as he opens the door to let himself out, “Milton…good work.”

* * *

_Thursday, 21 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 313._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After she interrogates Merle downstairs in solitary confinement, Sophie goes to interrogate Ben upstairs in A block. Alec, meanwhile, is wiring their new front gate so they can open it remotely from the control room—it’s so heavy that no one will be able to open it from the outside or knock it down without building serious momentum. Which is physically impossible, since the dirt road from the prison to the highway isn’t long enough for anyone to break this gate down by crashing into it with anything but a super-heavy tank. Gert has been going out with Eliot to boost more cars from the highway, with the hitter guarding her and the drones watching over them both.

Carol is still haunted by the memory of watching Axel die, of huddling under his body while the Governor shot his corpse full of bullet holes. What she helped Anton bury was a mangled thing, a shell of the man who made her smile and laugh. Morgan had put his hand on her shoulder and let her hide her face in the crook of his neck while she cried, and that was almost cruel because his kindness only reminds her of how emotionally unavailable he is to her in other ways.

It was Morgan who taught her to shoot a rifle with any accuracy, Morgan who found a gun with a purple grip frame for Sophia, Morgan who brought her trashy romance novels to read during the winter because he knows how much of a sucker she is for love stories with happy endings, and Morgan who came to mind every time Axel flirted with her. Trouble is, he had a wife pre-apocalypse and he doesn’t seem to want to move on with his life because that would mean letting her go. Carol has to respect that, even if she thinks being devoted to a dead woman is a waste of time. There are other things on her mind anyhow, with a war looming on the horizon.

When she goes looking for Daryl, she finds him in the library with a snoozing Lucy in his arms. It’s not a post-coital nap, since they’re both fully dressed. Lucy is just chronically incapable of sleeping at night like a diurnal person. Carol smiles at that and sits in a chair by the foot of their bed. “I haven’t had a chance to say that I’m glad you came back home,” she tells him softly.

Daryl shrugs as Lucy drools on his shirt. “I ain’t never gonna leave her,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” he says and exhales in a quiet huff, “couldn’t even spend a day in the woods with Merle without missin’ her somethin’ awful.”

“I know he’s your brother,” Carol says as gently as she can, “but he’s not good for you. Just don’t let him bring you down. After all,” she glances around the room at the home he’s made for himself, “look how far you’ve come.”

Daryl smiles at her, a soft twist of his mouth. “I asked Lucy t’ marry me,” he mutters, “twice.”

Carol doesn’t get a chance to respond to that because the earpiece on the desk by their bedside starts beeping. Lucy flails bolt upright and grabs the radio as she puts her glasses back on with her other hand.

Daryl squints at her, scrutinizing. “What’s goin’ on?” he asks.

“Andrea’s at the gate,” Lucy informs him as she hobbles out of bed to yank a skirt on over her camisole and leggings, “and she’s not alone.”

* * *

Karen is the last person that he expected to see holding an armless and toothless zombie in a snare and standing with a teenage boy who can only be Noah behind her. There are soft lines on her face, laughter and worry etched subtly into her skin. Daryl swallows hard because of how he left things with her. There’s nothing unfinished between them, but their ending was unhappy and that old feeling of guilt settles low in his stomach as the gate swings open.

It’s not an ambush or a trap because the drones haven’t been shot down and none of the solar-powered motion sensors they put in place around the perimeter in the aftermath of the assault have picked up on an approaching threat. Still, that doesn’t mean Andrea didn’t bring the wolves to their door.

“Hands up,” Rick snaps and stops them on the patch of gravel in between the outer fences. “Turn around.”

Andrea sighs and puts her hands behind her head as the former sheriff checks her and the others for weapons. “I’m not an enemy,” she says.

Karen smiles hesitantly at the archer, who’s pointing his crossbow at the scientist. “Hi,” she says, “long time no see.”

Andrea turns to look at her. “Wait,” she says, “you know Daryl?”

“Yeah,” Karen says and ekes the _ah_ sound out awkwardly, “we dated for a year fourteen years ago.”

Andrea glances at Noah, an unspoken question in the slant of her gaze. It would make sense if Karen wanted to defect from Woodbury because the Governor tried to force the father of her child to fight his brother to the death.

“No,” Karen says. “Noah’s dad was never in the picture. Daryl and I didn’t start dating until I was six weeks pregnant with him. I didn’t even come here for you,” she clarifies as her son looks at her with all the horror of a teenage boy realizing that his mom has a complicated romantic and sexual history, “I just needed to get my son the hell out of that crazy town and I figured you owed me one for dumping me the night I thought you were planning to propose.”

Daryl clears his throat. “I was,” he mutters, “but somethin’ came up.”

Lucy snorts. “I guess you haven’t gotten much better at proposing,” she deadpans.

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils as heat crawls up the back of his neck. “I’m better with you ’n I ever was before,” he tells her softly.

“Okay,” Lucy says before she turns to Rick and Morgan. “I want you to lock Karen and Noah to a holding cell and have Sophie interrogate them so I know they’re not part of some elaborate ruse the Governor came up with to weaken us from the inside,” she orders, “and blindfold them so they can’t see where they’re going. I’m sorry,” she adds as she forces herself to look Karen in the eyes, “but I can’t trust people from Woodbury willy-nilly.”

Karen nods. “It’s not like I expected you to welcome us with open arms,” she says. “Just don’t hurt my son.”

Lucy ducks her head in a nod of her own and turns to look at Milton, who’s been staring at the scars on her forearms like a creeper. “Let me guess,” she says as soon as Karen and Noah are safely out of earshot, “you’re here because you heard that I’m immune to the zombie virus.”

Milton adjusts his glasses. “Yes,” he says. “Andrea has told me some things about your research, but I’d like to hear about it from you if you don’t mind—”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly. “No,” she says, “you’re going to take Ben back to Woodbury and give the Governor a message for me.”

Eliot slants his gaze to her before he goes to get Ben out of his cell. Maybe it’s a mistake to send him back to Woodbury now that his parents are both six feet under, but holding a seventeen-year-old boy prisoner has left a bad taste in her mouth and Lucy doesn’t want him in her house.

“What…” Milton stutters awkwardly. “What…sort of message?”

Lucy extracts something from her pocket and offers him an unsealed white envelope with a polaroid taken in 1982 inside. “It’s a blast from the past,” she informs him.

* * *

Andrea walks into the guard station at the front end of C block with an empty holster on her hip and a hollow feeling in her heart. Amy is nowhere to be seen, because she took the graveyard shift on watch and she and Gilda are sleeping it off. “What happened?” she wants to know.

“Your boyfriend tore down the gate with a truck and shot us up,” Rick snaps at her.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Andrea retorts. “He also said you fired at him first.”

“Well,” Rick says and gnashes his teeth around the _l_ sound. “He’s lying.”

“He killed an inmate who survived in here,” Hershel adds, “his name was Axel. You might’ve met him the other day.”

“We liked him,” Carol murmurs. “He was one of us.”

“I didn’t know anything about any of that,” Andrea says. “I came as soon as I could—”

“He shot at Lucy,” Daryl growls, “would’ve put a bullet in her chest if she hadn’t been wearin’ a vest.”

Andrea looks at the bruise flourishing on the pale freckled skin above the sweetheart neckline of the camisole the librarian is wearing in horror. “Look,” she says thickly, “I cannot even begin to excuse or explain what Philip has done, but I am here trying to bring us together. We have to work things out—”

Lucy props her cane against the wall and hobbles over to sit on top of the table next to Daryl, who puts the hand he isn’t using to grip the strap of his crossbow on her thigh just above her knee and squeezes gently. “What makes you think he wants to negotiate?” she wants to know.

Andrea sighs. “I don’t think he does,” she says reluctantly.

“Then why did you come back here?” Rick asks.

Andrea puts her hands on her hips and glares at him as the harsh as the harsh fluorescent lights steal all of the blue in her eyes, until only steel remains. “Philip is gearing up for war,” she answers, “the people are terrified. They see you as killers. They’re training to attack.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Daryl says gruffly, “next time you see Philip, you tell him I’m gonna take his other eye.”

Glenn nods abruptly. “We’ve taken too much shit for too long,” he says. “He wants a war? He’s got one.”

 _Famous last words_ , Lucy thinks.


	29. Diamonds and Rust

**We cannot sleep too far from disaster zones. I saw a tornado once**  
**in my own front yard, and slept through hurricanes, knelt during earthquakes.**  
**Did I pray? Did I ask for something then? I only held my breath.**  
**When later asked, _Are you okay?_ I said, _Everything is temporary_.**

Jeannine Hall Gailey, “Introduction to Disaster Preparedness”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 29**  
Diamonds and Rust

* * *

_Friday, 22 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 314._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Rick takes Carl, Michonne, and Anton out on a supply run to the outskirts of Atlanta and they return with a few surprises: a rig full of guns and ammo, clothes from a big and tall store that had sold pants long enough for a man who’s six-foot-eight, and a desi man they found hitchhiking on the side of the road who introduces himself to the group as Dr. Caleb Subramanian. Lucy almost told Rick that going on a supply run was a terrible idea, but she hoped getting the hell out of the prison for a day would help him stop chasing the ghost of Lori around. When she found out that he picked up a doctor along the way, she couldn’t believe her luck. Caleb isn’t just a doctor, either; he has two doctorates: a medical degree and a degree in genetics.

Lucy has to resist the urge to sing the hallelujah chorus, because she’s tone-deaf and nobody wants to hear her sing—ever. Kate, who took choir with her in junior high, can attest to this. It’s not that she doesn’t have faith in her ability to learn how to apply what she learned about genetic modification in Biology 160 to curing the zombie virus, but having an actual geneticist around makes her gene therapy idea a hell of a lot more feasible. There are still too many pieces to put together for them to start doing their research, but she can feel the idea becoming more of a reality than a theory. It’s pressurizing, like a soda can just waiting for someone to shake things up. Lucy has a war to win before she gets ahead of herself, before she climbs up and stands on the shoulders of giants.

Kate corners her in the library while she defaces a map of Newnan to redact where the hostile territory is and sits in a chair off to one side of the desk. “Hey,” she says, “how are you doing?”

Lucy guffaws. When people used to ask that question pre-apocalypse, the answer they wanted was always _Fine, how are you?_ Kate isn’t trying to make small talk, so Lucy gives her the real answer. “I got two men killed,” she murmurs, “Corny traveled seventeen hundred miles to find me and a terrible part of me is wishing that Stella had shown up out of the blue instead. I’m the daughter of the man who sexually assaulted Maggie and Daryl proposed two days ago, for all the wrong reasons. I want to crawl into bed and rewatch the _Addams Family_ movies and pretend that nothing is wrong for a few hours, but I can’t because we’re at war. I’m honestly surprised that I haven’t had a panic attack since the night of the shootout, just a few meltdowns where I ugly cried for a few minutes and then went back to whatever I was doing at the time.”

“Wait,” Kate says as her eyes go wide behind her wire-rimmed glasses, “Daryl _proposed?_ ”

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound, “but I’m pretty sure he just thinks he wants to marry me because our relationship is the only stability he’s ever had in his life and things are falling apart. I don’t want him to want to marry me because he saw me get shot or because we could die tomorrow or because having his brother around is messing with his head and making him want things he knows aren’t going to happen.”

Kate shrugs. “Liam and I got married and we didn’t overthink it,” she points out.

Lucy makes a garbled noise in her throat. “Yeah,” she retorts, “except you didn’t tell anyone you were married for almost five years because your parents had a messy divorce and you were worried your mom would’ve projected her failed marriage to your dad onto you and your marriage to Liam because she thought getting married young was a mistake and she didn’t want you to make the same mistake that she did. Also, you weren’t living in the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse or fighting a war against your biological father.”

“Okay,” Kate says, “that’s fair, but none of that shit matters in the grand scheme of things because Daryl is stupid in love with you.”

“It matters,” Lucy says, “because loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean you should marry them. I learned the hard way that love isn’t enough to make things work sometimes and I don’t want to marry anyone who isn’t a thousand percent sure they want to marry me, even if that someone is stupid in love with me.”

“Fair enough,” Kate says, “but he asked Cath for your ring size before he went on that supply run with Glenn this morning. Just so you know.”

Lucy actually looks up from the map to meet her eyes at that. When she told Daryl that she deserved a ring, she hadn’t meant for him to go on a run while they’re preparing to negotiate a fake armistice with Woodbury. It’s after the fact now and everything is fine, but that doesn’t stop her from retroactively catastrophizing.

Kate grins at her cheekily. “It’s okay to let yourself be happy, you know,” she points out.

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips in a futile attempt to decompress. Daryl is traumatized in a way that she isn’t, a way that she can’t totally comprehend: he didn’t have a safe place to hide unless you count the woods, his abuser was the one person who should’ve protected him from the monstrous things in the world instead of being the monster, and he didn’t have a family or friends to support him outside of such a toxic environment until now. Lucy knows he thinks she’s too good for him and that breaks her heart, because he doesn’t seem to understand that he’s more than good enough. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Daryl is kind, and sweet, and observant, and smart, and selfless to a fault because he doesn’t think he matters as much as someone like her or someone innocent like Sophia. Daryl is the kind of guy who’d die for her without hesitation—he would’ve leapt in front of the bullet she took given half a chance whether he was wearing a bulletproof vest or not. It’s dangerous to hold the heart of a man like him in your hands, to know how fragile and breakable he can be with the right amount of pressure. “I can’t marry him unless he’s sure he isn’t asking for marriage when all he wants is stability,” she murmurs, “he needs to know I’m not going anywhere without him whether we’re married or not. If that means we don’t get engaged right away, I can live with that. I’ve got a lot of other things going on right now.”

Kate looks at her, aghast. “No,” she says, “really?”

Lucy cackles at the ooze of sarcasm. “Okay,” she says as she huffs with laughter, “but seriously: go check in with our project manager and our chief engineer and report back to me on the progress of our fortifications so I can update my records. I’d go see for myself, but I’m having a bad ankle day.”

“Sure thing, fearless leader.” Kate rises to her feet and gives her a mock salute. “I’ll tell Cath and Nico that you say _Hi_.”

* * *

_Saturday, 23 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 315._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Lucy hobbles into E block with a yawn to find Daryl talking to Karen, leaning with his shoulder hunched up against one side of the open doorway to her cell while she sits in a hot pink plastic lawn chair—they’re out of folding chairs because they scrapped most of the metal furniture in the prison to build a new gate and facilitate other fortifications. Tyreese is standing by the rear entrance and watching the exit because Lucy put a one-man guard rotation on Karen and her son, even though she’s ninety-seven percent sure they’re not a threat. Noah is out in the backyard with Duane, who’s teaching him to milk Henwen the dairy cow. Neeley, who also has asthma, is sharing his Claritin with the poor congested kid because the onset of spring means pollen is everywhere. Noah is going to need a new inhaler soon, and that means Kate is going to have to moonlight as a pharmacist to combine a bronchodilator with an anti-inflammatory steroid. Lucy is going to need another listography notebook, because her to-do list is never-ending.

“Hi,” Karen says as the librarian pulls up a virulent green plastic lawn chair to sit next to Daryl in the doorway. “We were actually just talking about you.”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly as she waits for jealousy to churn through her like nausea, but it doesn’t. There’s nothing visceral going on besides the bottomless pit of anxiety that lives in her chest, but she’s not panicking about this; she’s just nervous, like she always is when she finds out people are talking about her where she can’t hear whatever they’re saying.

“Daryl was telling me that I can trust you,” Karen clarifies, “and that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Lucy blushes from the tops of her ears to the hollow of her throat. “I don’t think you should be saying that to your ex,” she points out. “It seems kind of rude.”

Daryl shrugs. “It’s the truth,” he mutters. “I ain’t gonna lie about how I feel.”

Lucy blushes harder until she feels the heat under the bodice of her dress and exhales a soft whoosh of air. Daryl is laying it on a little thick, but she’s not complaining. There are worse things in the world than having the man she loves thinking she’s the best thing in his life—like the zombie apocalypse, for example.

“So,” Karen says, “is me being his ex going to make things awkward?”

Lucy shakes her head slowly. “It doesn’t exactly come as a surprise that my older boyfriend has dated people other than me,” she deadpans. “Daryl and I have talked about you before. I know he loved you. I also know that you’re not in love with each other anymore. I know you’re here for your son, not for him. Andrea told me the Governor was drafting kids age thirteen and up into his army.”

Karen nods, a sharp descent of her chin. “Where is Andrea?” she wants to know. “Please tell me she didn’t go back to Woodbury.”

Lucy shakes her head again. “Andrea’s on watch,” she informs her before she adjusts her glasses and forces herself to meet her eyes. “It was sweet of Daryl to talk me up to you,” she murmurs, “but what matters isn’t whether or not you can trust me. I need to know if I can trust _you_.”

“Look,” Karen says, “Noah and I have lived in Woodbury for three months. There was a lot of weird stuff going on, but we all ignored it because Dr. Mamet said they were trying to find a cure for zombieism. I wanted to believe that was possible and I wanted a life for myself and my son. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “I don’t need an apology,” she says, “I need to know if you’re dangerous. Andrea vouched for you, but she’s a bleeding heart with a bad habit of seeing the best in people even if those people are the worst.” _Exhibit A_ , she thinks, _the Governor_. “Sophie told me that you seem genuine and I doubt you could pull one over on a con artist who once convinced an American ambassador that she was a Slovene princess.”

“Wait,” Karen says as she arches her dark eyebrows incredulously, “what?”

Lucy snorts. “It’s a long story,” she says, “but here’s the gist of what I’m saying: I never wanted to fight a war. I wanted a place to settle where my people could thrive and where I could assemble the equipment that I need to cure the zombie virus…” she holds up her left arm bent at the elbow to show Karen her scars, “…so I won’t be one of three people on the planet that can survive a zombie bite without any medical intervention. I can’t reverse zombieism because catastrophic loss of cognitive function and decomposition cannot be undone, but I can save our species from extinction.”

“Okay,” Karen says and ekes the _ay_ sound out as she stares at the pink slubs of scar tissue perfectly shaped like teeth in disbelief. “So you actually have a cure?”

Daryl nods brusquely. “If ya’ got bit,” he says, “we’d give ya’ a transfusion of her blood. It helps people fight off the infection without dyin’ from the fever.”

“So you don’t have a cure,” Karen says, “you _are_ the cure.”

Lucy shrugs, hunching one shoulder to meet her earlobe. “I am what I am,” she deadpans.


	30. Creatures

**For if judgment hurts the teeth, it doesn’t mind,**  
**not judgment. Teeth pass. Pain passes,**  
**judgment decrees what remains—**  
**the serene judgments of evolution.**

Jane Hirshfield, “To Judgment: An Assay”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. VIII**  
_Made to Suffer_  
**Chapter 30**  
Creatures

* * *

_Sunday, 24 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 316._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

There’s been an influx of newcomers that has left a dearth of knowledge about the zombie virus between those who have been part of the group for months and those who haven’t. Lucy calls a meeting in the library to explain things because she hasn’t made a habit of keeping anyone out of the loop and she’s not going to start now.

After she unrolls the projection screen and plugs the adapter cable into her computer, Lucy folds herself into a chair behind the circulation desk. “Okay,” she says, “for some of you this a refresher course, for others not so much. I have new findings to present and a proposal for research I plan on doing with Dr. Subramanian in the event that we win this war to share with you. I want to make one thing abundantly clear to those of you from Woodbury,” she glances at Karen before she adds, “I am nothing like the Governor. I’m a librarian. I believe in sharing information, not withholding it. Which is why I’m going to do my best to explain who I am, what I am, and what we’re fighting for.”

When she clicks on the presentation that she made, the first slide reads _Zombie 101_ in big letters with _Introduction to the Epidemiology of the Human Zombification Virus_ underneath in smaller letters—white text on a black slide typed in the kind of generic, crisp font academics use. Nothing fancy, but easy to read.

“I’m Lucy Orville,” Lucy says in the phlegmatic voice she uses to avoid infodumping at the speed of light. “Bachelor of the Arts in English literature with a focus in literary studies, Masters of Science in library and information science with a focus in archival studies. I was living with an autoimmune disease for almost ten years pre-apocalypse, but I’m in remission now. I had rheumatoid arthritis, a genetic disorder associated with the cell receptors encoded by the human leukocyte antigen gene complex. I have a genetic marker, HLA-DRB1*0102. I use a cane because the inflammation fucked up both my wrist and my ankle.” Then she undoes the brace on her wrist with a loud rip of Velcro to showcase the thin scar that stretches from the back of her hand down over her forearm. “I can’t bend my wrist at all because I had it surgically immobilized to mitigate the chronic pain I’m still living with. I was immunocompromised for years because my immunoresponses were so powerful and so indiscriminate that my joints and my mobility were permanently impaired. Which is how I survived four zombie bites without dying, and now the living dead can smell my immunity so they don’t even try to bite me anymore.”

When she clicks to the second slide, it asks _What is a virus?_ and it answers, _a pathogenic microorganism capable of infecting any other kind of organism_. Then it asks, _What is the zombie virus?_ in bigger letters, and _a viral infection that causes zombification_. There’s a table on the left labeled _Taxonomies_ with some more detailed information. _Name: Human Zombification Virus (HZV). Classification: (-)ssRNA (negative-sense single-stranded RNA). Order: Mononegavirales. Genera: Zombivirus. Family: Zombiviriadae. Morphology: Pleomorphic. Infection Rate: 99.99%_.

“Dr. Candace Jenner, the Director for Science at the C. D. C. in Atlanta, discovered the first strain of the zombie virus approximately fourteen months ago,” Lucy explains. “It doesn’t behave like any virus the scientific community had encountered before. There’s never been another disease capable of turning the bodies of its hosts into undead meat puppets in order to spread the infection, nor anything that has evolved to be so contagious to one particular species on a global scale. When we went to the C. D. C. ten months ago, we learned that at least 99.99% of the human population on the planet was wiped out by this virus. There’s no coming back from that as a country, as a society. Which,” she murmurs as she adjusts her glasses and muffles a yawn in the hollow of one palm, “gives us the opportunity to make a better world. Only we can’t do that if our species goes extinct.”

When she clicks to the third slide, it has another table. _Human Zombification Virus A (HZV-A)_ , the first column reads. _Infection Type 1: Latent, Acute. Transmission: Waterborne, Sexual (Venereal, Mucosal). Infection Type 2: Live. Transmission: Bloodborne, Scratching, Biting. Infection Rate: 99.99%. Human Zombification Virus B (HZV-B)_ , the second column reads. _Infection Type: Live. Transmission: Airborne, Bloodborne, Scratching, Biting. Infection Rate: 99.99%_.

“So you’re saying we’re all infected?” Tyreese asks.

Lucy ducks her head and nods before she clicks over to the next slide. _HZV-A exists in symbiosis with its host in its latent form_ , it reads, _and it gives its host immunity to airborne HZV-B. However, an acute infection can be caused by stress and is capable of altering the cognitive function of the host. Unfortunately, the full extent of these effects is unknown. Further study is required_. “I’ve found that people infected with latent HZV-A are immune to airborne HZV-B,” she clarifies, “so the latent viral strain is the reason most of you survived the global outbreak. I’ve hypothesized that a sizeable chunk of the population was partially immune to the virus—specifically immune to waterborne HZV-A—and that’s why so many people died of spontaneous viral amplification. I’ve also ‘cured’—” she crooks her fingers like quotation marks around the word, “—three people with partial immunity who were infected with airborne HZV-B. I use the air quotes because they’re replicating my immunoresponse to both strains of the virus now, but their immunity is synthetic.”

“Why aren’t you studying the effects the latent infection has on the brain?” Caleb asks, “or trying to cure it?”

Lucy shrugs. “We don’t have the technology,” she deadpans. “Also, as terrifying as the idea of a virus rewiring your brain is, the latent infection is protecting most of you from the much deadlier airborne pathogen. I’d have to transfuse all of you every week until I die to keep the latent infection out of your systems while I try to find a more permanent solution and that would be a waste of blood.”

When she clicks over to the fifth slide, it reads: _Adaptive immunity is the part of our immune systems that eliminates harmful pathogens and prevents their growth. It responds to a pathogen once and creates an immunological memory in order to enhance our immunoresponse to that specific pathogen in the event of subsequent exposure_.

Lucy muffles a louder yawn in the hollow of her palm. “I can’t give people with the latent virus the ability to replicate my immunoresponse to the infection by transfusing them because that symbiosis is the initial response they acquired,” she explains, “and I don’t have a way to supersede that. I can still ‘cure’—” she crooks her fingers like quotation marks around the word again, “—those infected with latent HZV-A if they’re exposed to the live virus through a bite or a scratch or…” she flicks her gaze to Michonne, “…through a zombie you disemboweled with a katana bleeding on your gunshot wound. I’ve transfused seven people who’ve been exposed to the live virus and they all survived the infection.”

Patricia didn’t technically survive, but that was because a zombie had ripped her throat out a week after Lucy transfused her. Which is tragic, but it doesn’t skew her data because it’s a truth universally acknowledged that science gives no fucks.

Lucy bites her lip and makes a valiant effort not to look at her boyfriend. “I accidentally made Daryl immune,” she says, “through fluid exchange. Which,” she bites down on the consonant as her cheeks flush bright red, “means that immunity can be sexually transmitted. There’s a caveat, though: it took six months of repeated exposure for Daryl to acquire my immunoresponse to the zombie virus, and it cannot be transmitted by someone with synthetic immunity. Which brings me to my main point.”

When she brings up the next slide, it says: _There are zombie stories dating back to ancient Mesopotamia, although the first recorded use of the word “zombie” was in 1819_.

“I have a theory that the waterborne strain of the zombie virus is older than we think,” Lucy says, “and that it got into the water because a glacier containing frozen virions melted. I have no way to prove that, but I like the irony of global warming being the cause of the zombie apocalypse.”

That, of course, makes them laugh even though she wasn’t joking. Apparently she isn’t the only person who uses humor as a coping mechanism. Lucy smiles, a shy unfurling that begins with one corner of her mouth.

“I think we must be predisposed to our immunoresponses to the zombie virus,” she clarifies, “otherwise a transfusion from me would be enough to permanently transmit my immunity. There must be a genetic component, but it’s not a dominant trait. Although dominance in the context of genetics isn’t cut and dry. There’s a multitude of external and internal factors that influence whether a gene is active or inactive. I didn’t have freckles until I was twenty-two, because some change in the environment around me caused the gene for my freckles to express itself. When someone has a genetic trait but it doesn’t express itself, they’re a carrier.”

When she clicks to the next slide, it reads: _Odds of inheriting an autosomal dominant trait are 1:2. Odds of inheriting an autosomal recessive trait are 1:4, with the caveat that approximately half of the people who inherit the trait are carriers—people capable of passing the trait onto their offspring even though they don’t express the trait themselves. Odds of inheriting an autosomal recessive trait and expressing it are 1:8_.

“I want to sequence my genome,” Lucy says, “and find the locus of the immunity gene. After that, Dr. Subramanian can help me isolate and clone the gene in order to develop a gene therapy and make all of you immune. If you pass the gene on and it doesn’t express itself, the gene therapy will change that. If you have a child that doesn’t inherit the gene, the gene therapy will make them immune. If you don’t want to have children, that’s your choice and it’s totally valid. I’m not here to force anyone into repopulating the earth. I just don’t want the possibility of immunity to die with me.”

Carl frowns at her, his eyebrows furrowing in curiosity while he thinks about the possibility that he might be a carrier. “Why didn’t they use gene therapy or whatever to cure all diseases, before?” he asks. “If doing it would’ve been that easy, they should’ve.”

Lucy shrugs. “It would’ve cost billions of dollars in research funding,” she informs him matter-of-factly, “and bankrupted the medical, pharmaceutical, and insurance business industries. Our society was more concerned with profits than progress.”

Caleb nods. “It was also a pretty controversial thing,” he adds, “people were always freaking out about genetically modified organisms, from genetically modified crops to using the gene for delphinidin from pansies to create blue roses to gene targeting in transgenic animals for medical research to those glow-in-the-dark fish genetically engineered as fluorescent pets.”

“I used to have one of those,” Julie tells him, “a Galactic Purple tetra. I named him Galactus, Devourer of Worlds.”

Lucy snorts at that before she clicks over to the next slide. Which contains a brief overview of the Human Genome Project. “I need blood and tissue samples from the Governor because he’s my biological father and I want to sequence his genome too,” she says. “There are approximately twenty-two thousand three hundred genetic sequences in the human genome, and approximately four thousand of them are unclassified. I’m happy to have an actual geneticist around to help me work on this, but a map of the genome of the person whom I ostensibly inherited my immunity from would be crucial data either way. Which is the only reason that I haven’t sent Eliot back to Woodbury to put a bullet in his head and end this war malarkey so I can get back to saving the world.”

“You need his body,” Karen deduces, “for science.”

Lucy ducks her head in a nod and muffles yet another yawn in the hollow of her palm. “Yup,” she says and pops the _p_ sound in the aftermath, “do you have a problem with that?”

Karen shakes her head slowly because she knows the Governor sexually assaulted Maggie, that he manipulated Andrea, and he was going to send her fourteen-year-old son into battle over a living dead girl. “Nope,” she says. “No problem whatsoever.”

Lucy smiles at her, still with a hint of shyness. “I think you’re going to like it here,” she says.

“You know what?” Karen says and smiles back. “Me too.”


	31. Run of the Mill

**Just once, I want to meet the villain in a cheerful, brightly lit room. Possibly one with kittens.**

Seanan McGuire, _An Artificial Night_

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 31**  
Run of the Mill

* * *

_Sunday, 24 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 316._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After she gives her post-apocalyptic TED Talk, Lucy hobbles into the control room because Alec has something to show her: footage recorded by one of their drones of Milton holding up a small whiteboard with _the Governor would like to negotiate an armistice. Meet us over at the Esco Feed Mill in Haralson at 9am tomorrow_ written in black dry erase ink while Shumpert takes the zombies shambling towards them out with his bow and mismatched arrows.

“Where’s the Esco Feed Mill?” Lucy asks as she folds herself into a papasan chair in one corner of the control room.

Daryl squints at the screen and folds his sinewy arms in a way that makes the lean muscles of his biceps flex. “It’s twenty miles out,” he says gruffly, “could be a trap.”

Lucy bites her lip and nods. “It’s either an ambush or a ruse,” she murmurs, “a diversionary tactic to make us think we can negotiate a truce and wheedle us into handing over Michonne while he buys more time to whip his militia comprised of children and civilians into fighting shape. There’s no way he wants a real armistice.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. “So what do we do?” he asks.

“‘It should be remembered that there is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things,’” Lucy quotes from memory, “‘because the innovator has for enemies all those who have done well under the old conditions.’ Machiavelli wrote that,” she sighs, “he also wrote that war is the only art that a leader needs to know.”

“Sun Tzu wrote that all warfare is based on deception,” Sophie interjects from the doorway. “If you want to win a war, you must know your opponent as well as yourself.”

“Blake was doing all of this to bring his daughter back to life,” Nate adds, “letting him know that you’re his daughter should throw him even more off balance than he already is. It’s possible that he wants to negotiate a real truce because you sent him that picture. Not probable, but still…”

Nate had a son who died of cancer pre-apocalypse. It must be hard for him not to sympathize with Blake, whose sole motivation since the world went to hell in a handbasket was his inability to let Penny die. Sophie puts a hand on his back and splays her fingers over the hollow in between his shoulder blades to show him that he isn’t alone in his grief anymore.

Lucy muffles a yawn in the crook of her elbow. _It’s a matter of life and death_ , she quotes to herself from memory, _a road either to safety or ruin_. “I don’t give a crap about what he wants,” she informs him. “I want him dead for what he did to Maggie, to Andrea…” she slants her gaze to Daryl before she adds, “…to Merle. Blake is a monster, a parasite. There’s no point in calling a truce with him because he doesn’t want us here, and me being his flesh and blood doesn’t change how much of a threat we are to his fearocracy.”

Alec grins at the portmanteau, in spite of himself. “I think he must’ve figured out that our drones have a limited range,” he says. “Which—for those of you who don’t know—is five miles, max. It wasn’t an issue when we were on the road since we could just boost the range by driving around because we had a network of transmitters in the rigs, but now we’re settled in one place with all our eggs in one basket.”

“So,” Daryl says and slants his gaze to Lucy as she gnaws on her left thumbnail without biting through the horn, “what do we do?”

Lucy stops chewing on her nail and looks up into his eyes. “I’m going to meet him,” she murmurs, “and you’re coming with me.”

* * *

_Monday, 25 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 317._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

When she gets dressed the morning of the meeting, Lucy wears a lowcut black camisole on top of her flowy knee-length skirt and leggings to showcase the deep bruise on her chest. It’s meant to send a message: _You tried to kill me. You failed. You won’t get another shot_.

Daryl hums low in his throat and comes up behind her as she straps her belt around her waist, all three of her guns locked and loaded in their holsters. There’s a love bite on the back of her neck that he gave her the night before, and something primal in him puffs up with pride at the sight of his mark on her. “Ya’ look good enough t’ eat,” he drawls. “Ya’ know that?”

Lucy blushes and smiles at him over her shoulder before she twists her hair up into a chunky plastic hairclip, not bothering to get Cath to braid the frizzy tendrils into submission for once. It’s fuck off o’clock in the morning and she’s not in a submissive mood. “I want him to see that he failed,” she informs him, “to kill me and to scare us.”

Daryl puts his sinewy arms loosely around her shoulders and hunches to kiss her flushed cheek. “You’re gonna knock him dead,” he murmurs with his mouth so close that his beard and stubble rubs against her skin.

When she tangles her fingers in his bedraggled hair and turns to kiss him over her shoulder, Daryl cups her face in one hand and nuzzles his forehead against hers while she licks into his mouth to tease the frenulum under his tongue. Lucy tastes like toothpaste and maple syrup from the pancakes that Carol made for breakfast, the sweetness of her in the gentle slip of her soft tongue stroking his. When she breaks the kiss, her glasses are fogged up around the rims.

 _Okay_ , she thinks as she hobbles to sit on the bed and laces up her boots. _Let’s get this over with_.

* * *

_Monday, 25 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 317._  
_Haralson, GA;_  
_Esco Feed Mill._

* * *

Apparently the Esco Feed Mill had been a mill for making farm animal feed once upon a time, before it became a historical landmark—it was built in 1920 and it operated for over fifty years until the company that owned the mill changed hands and the new management closed it down and turned it into a tourist trap. Which devastated the economy of Haralson, because making farm animal feed had been the only industry in the small farming town. There’s a sign outside the mill that says _NO TRESPASSING. Violators Will Be Shot. Survivors Will Be Shot Again_.

 _Okay_ , Lucy thinks as they drive up the desolate road, _don’t panic_.

Gert stops the jeep in front of the silos clumped together like turrets of a crumbling old castle and glances at Eliot in the rearview mirror. Alec is parked in a rig five miles out with Parker and Sophie monitoring the battery-operated system of audiovisual surveillance that he set up overnight because Lucy didn’t want to go in blind. Rick had wanted to come, but she had ordered him to stay put because of his hallucinations. It’s clear to Gert that Lucy chose them as the brawn to her brains, in case this goes south. Daryl cuts the engine and parks his bike in front of the silos as Eliot gets out of the jeep so they can sweep the perimeter.

“Medusa,” Alec says over the radio, “the Governor’s been here for two hours. I don’t think he knows he’s immune, but he cleared all the zombies out of the mill and set up shop in what looks like a storage room.”

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips in a futile attempt to decompress. “Okay,” she mumbles, “I’m going in.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Gert tells her.

Lucy scoops her messenger bag over her shoulder and holds her cane in one hand as she opens the passenger side door with the other. “I’m not going in alone,” she says. “I’ll be with the monster.”

When she hobbles into the storage shed and sees him looming over her on a wooden platform with a table and chairs set up, Philip smiles at her with too much teeth in the gape of his mouth and holds up his hands in mock surrender. It makes her skin crawl, him stepping out of the shadows and staring at the bruise on her chest like he wants to slice her open and look inside of her. Philip lets the grin wither on his face as she narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses and he drops his hands with a shrug. “We have a lot to talk about,” he says in a tone of cordiality that doesn’t quite hide the underlying threat in his voice.

Lucy snorts and shifts more of her weight onto her cane to avoid putting too much pressure on her ankle as she shuffles up onto the platform and stands her ground. “You attacked my people,” she retorts. “You also tried to kill me.”

“I could have killed you all,” Philip points out smoothly, “I didn’t.”

Lucy folds herself into a chair as Eliot quietly walks up onto the platform to stand behind her. Daryl has been given explicit instructions to stay out of this because as much as she loves him and trusts him with her life, she also knows him well enough not to have him at her back while she sits down with a man who tried to put a bullet in her chest.

“I’m going to remove my weapon,” Philip tells her, “show that I mean to negotiate in good faith. I’d like you to do the same.”

Lucy has to squash the urge to roll her eyes at him. “I’m crippled and you’ve got a foot and twentysomething pounds on me,” she murmurs, “so no. I’m going to stay armed.”

“Suit yourself,” Philip says before he makes a big show of taking off his gun belt and hanging it up on a hook behind his chair out of reach from the table. “See?” he adds, “no trouble.”

Lucy flicks her gaze to the hitter. “Eliot,” she says, “check the table for hidden weapons. Please.”

Eliot nods. “Sure thing,” he mutters.

Lucy isn’t surprised by the handgun he finds duct taped underneath the table in front of the man who calls himself the Governor. When the hitter hands the Beretta over to her, she takes it apart to check the firing pin and the cartridge before she puts it back together and puts it down on top of the table in front of her. “You thought I’d fall for that?” she asks.

Philip gives her another wide grin with too many teeth. “Rick might have from what Merle told me about him,” he says, “but not you. Andrea told me all about you,” he grins even wider, “she said you’re the smart one…” he looks down at the scars on her arms before he adds, “…the one who thinks she’s immune.”

Lucy shrugs, one-shouldered. “Andrea still thinks we can work things out,” she murmurs, “but we both know better. What you did the other day, you were trying to scare us because you’re afraid. I know you blamed Merle for everything: Glenn and Maggie, the shootout, all that jazz,” she says as she adjusts her glasses and forces herself to look him in the eye. “I also know you have a habit of failing to take responsibility for things. What did you do with the picture I sent you?”

Philip holds her gaze as he extracts the picture from the pocket of his quilted vest and puts it on the table just out of her reach. “Where did you get this?” he wants to know.

Lucy muffles a yawn in the hollow of her palm. “You still haven’t figured it out?” she asks.

“You’re messing with my head by dredging up the past,” Philip says in a saccharine tone of voice that oozes condescension. “I figured that out, but it doesn’t explain how you got ahold of this picture.”

“I got that picture in the mail almost ten years ago,” Lucy informs him, “the court sent me a copy of a file because my adoption records were unsealed the summer that I turned eighteen. There was a letter from Genevieve Karasuma in the file, and she put that picture in the envelope with it because she thought I might want to see what my biological parents looked like.”

“You’re lying,” Philip bites out. “You can’t be my—”

Lucy smiles at him in the incongruously vicious way that doesn’t show her teeth. “I am what I am,” she retorts, “and what I am is your daughter.”


	32. Parental Guidance

**I did not bury the hatchet.**  
**I have the hatchet in my hands.**  
**I am building myself a new house.**

Brenna Twohy, “When I Say I Forgive You, Know This”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 32**  
Parental Guidance

* * *

_Monday, 25 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 317._  
_Haralson, GA;_  
_Esco Feed Mill._

* * *

Gert drives the jeep around the front of the storage building to find Daryl squinting at the vanishing point down the road. It’s obvious that he’s worried about Lucy, from the disquiet in the flare of his nostrils to the taut hunch of tension rooted in his shoulders while he scrutinizes the highway. “There aren’t any other cars around,” she tells him as she parks in front of the sliding door Eliot left cracked open.

Daryl nods brusquely. Lucy asking Eliot to guard her during the negotiation was a smart move, since the hitter isn’t itching to put an arrow in the Governor’s eye; but he still wishes that he was the one watching her back. “This don’t feel right,” he mutters, “keep the engine runnin’.”

Gert clenches her fists around the steering wheel as a heavy duty SUV revs to life in front of the ramshackle shed across the road. There are rusted tractors behind a chain link fence, the frames missing their rear tires; she remembers thick oversized tires stacked on top of the wall at the front gate of Woodbury, and this is probably where they got some of them.

“Heads up,” Daryl growls and swings his crossbow up against his shoulder to aim a bolt at their enemies as Martinez, Shumpert, and the mad scientist emerge from the Excursion now parked in the middle of the roadway. “What the hell?” he asks. “Why’s your boy already in there?”

Martinez shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. Shumpert just glares at him, still mad about the night in the arena because Daryl knocked him upside the head and gave him a concussion. Milton flips open a small notebook and starts writing something down, using the hood of the heavy duty SUV as a flat surface.

“Great,” Daryl says gruffly, “he brought his butler.”

“I’m his advisor,” Milton says flatly as Martinez snickers.

“What kind of advice?” Daryl asks.

Milton sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I don’t feel like I need to explain myself to the henchmen.”

Daryl snarls low in his throat. Lucy didn’t bring him as backup, she brought him because she _needs_ him. There are better fighters, better advisors, better shooters, but he’s the one she needs by her side. _Yeah_ , he thinks, _henchman, my ass_. “You better watch your mouth, sunshine,” he snaps back at him.

Martinez huffs. “Look,” he says, “if you and I are gonna be out here pointing guns at each other all day, do me a favor and shut your mouth.”

Daryl is itching for a fight, wants to smack that smug look off Martinez’s face something awful. It occurs to him that he would’ve thrown a punch by now if things hadn’t changed so much since the world ended, if he’d never met Lucy and mellowed out somewhat. There are better ways to cope with how pissed off he feels right now than picking a fight with some asshole.

Milton shuts his notebook and clears his throat awkwardly. “There’s no reason not to use what little time we have together to explore the issues ourselves,” he points out.

“Nah,” Martinez says, “boss said to sit tight and shut up.”

“It’s a good thing they’re sitting down,” Milton says, “especially after what happened. Nobody wants another battle.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a battle,” Daryl retorts. _Hell_ , he thinks, _it was an attack, is what it was. Ain’t no other word for it_. There was no army, no battlefield, just a couple of guys with guns coming out of the woods and huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf trying to blow their damn house in.

Milton holds up his notebook. “I would call it a battle,” he says, “and I did. I recorded it.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. _Lucy would get a kick outta this_ , he thinks. “You did, huh?” he drawls.

Milton nods. “Somebody’s got to keep a record of what we’ve gone through,” he explains. “Someday it’ll be a part of our history.”

“Lucy was a librarian before all this,” Daryl murmurs, “she keeps records of everythin’.”

Milton perks up at that. “I’ve got dozens of interviews…” he says and fizzles out at the sound of a telltale clunk against one of the silos.

Daryl narrows his eyes as the zombie yowls and goes to take his anger out on some undead fuckers while Gert stays in their getaway car. Martinez grips his MP5K submachine gun with one hand and spins his metal bat in between the fingers of the other as he and Shumpert follow the bowhunter to where the action is.

Milton looks so dejected that she can’t help but laugh at him. “I’m a historian,” Gert informs him. “I used to teach Gender and Sexuality in the Modern World and Methods and Research in History at Wayne State University in Detroit.”

Gert has a bachelor’s degree in History, a masters in Gender Studies, and a doctorate in World History; she’s also a ninth-degree blackbelt in Tae Kwon Do. Lucy brought her along because she’s five-foot-nothing and people tend to underestimate her. Gert carries a gun, but she’s a weapon all by herself. Still, they’ve all been in survivalist mode for so long and it feels good to get back to her academic roots.

Milton adjusts his glasses and offers his notebook to her, shyly. Gert flips through it while he asks her questions and deflates every time she doesn’t answer. “You know this armistice is bullshit,” she says and thumbs at the corner of a blank page. “Your leader is a tyrant who rules through fear, and historically that never ends well.”

“You don’t know him,” Milton tells her flatly, “not like I do. I’ve been his friend since we were freshmen in college. I know his methods seem tyrannical, but he’s a good man.”

Gert hands the notebook back to him. “You’re wrong,” she says. “Maybe he was a good man once, but he’s not anymore. I just hope that you open your eyes and see him for who he really is before he gets you killed.”

* * *

Philip hadn’t thought much about her, hadn’t let himself think of the girl he left in Seattle or what had become of the child they had together. Until now he hadn’t even known the child was a girl—that he had another daughter walking around in the world.

There’s something that reminds him of Genevieve in her cute button nose, the stubborn tilt of her chin. Lucy doesn’t look much like him: they both have brown hair, but hers is frizzy and it has a copper burnish that catches the sunshine coming in through the skylight; they both have pale skin, and he has a hunch that she got her freckles from his mother. Otherwise, she’s short and he’s tall; she’s chubby and he isn’t; she’s myopic and he has perfect vision; she’s crippled and he may be missing an eye, but he’s not hobbled like she is. Still, her eyes are a sharp gray in contrast to his muddled hazel. Those eyes are eerily reminiscent of his father’s gunmetal stare, right down to the contemptuous look she shoots him.

Philip swallows thickly and clears his throat. “You were adopted,” he says. Almost like a question.

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound.

Philip nods. “Your parents,” he says, “were they…”

Lucy bites down on the inside of her cheek, hard. When he looks at her, it’s obvious that he wants something. Absolution. Forgiveness. Salvation. Lucy has no intention of giving him what he wants, unless what he wants is a bullet in his head. “Roger and Caroline Orville,” she murmurs and it takes a herculean effort to keep her voice from shaking, “they were the best parents in the world. I miss them every day.”

Philip narrows his only eye at her. “What brought you here?” he wants to know. “I can tell you weren’t raised in the South.”

“I’m from Seattle,” Lucy informs him. “I took a road trip with my friends to Disneyworld last summer and we were camped out at a rest stop near Atlanta when the city was firebombed,” she gnaws on the inside of her cheek at the memory, “and we got stranded here. I was bitten by a zombie a few weeks into the global outbreak and I survived. I want to know if you’re also immune,” she adds as she glances down at the slubs of scar tissue on her forearms. “I want a blood sample from you, for my research.”

Philip surprises her by rolling up his sleeve. “Take it,” he says, “it’s the least I can do.”

Lucy extracts a phlebotomy kit from her bag and uses her cane to get back on her feet before she shuffles around the other side of the table to draw his blood. There’s a part of her that doesn’t want to touch him, not even through her latex gloves diluting the physical contact; Eliot watching her like a hawk is oddly comforting, but that’s not enough to stop her from screaming internally the entire time. Lucy finds a vein and puts in the IV like Amy taught her because they planned for this contingency, that she might need to take a sample without her assistant someday.

“I care about my people,” Philip tells her as she fills another tube. “I don’t take their deaths lightly, and I know you don’t either. I think in a way, this fight is a failure of leadership. Problem is, leaving you and your people be would constitute an even bigger failure.”

Lucy has to stop herself from rolling her eyes and steering into the skid of her newfound daddy issues. “You started this,” she tells him with forced nonchalance and rips the IV out of his forearm to make him grit his teeth in pain before she hobbles back to her seat at the other end of the table. “You took my people hostage and tortured Glenn. You terrorized and sexually assaulted Maggie.”

“You terrorized us by sending in a team of infiltrators who shot up Main Street and killed six people,” Philip retorts as he rubs the sore patch of skin where she had put in the IV, “if I let that threat persist, I look weak and the whole town crumbles.”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly as she puts the test tubes full of his blood in a box that she tucks into her messenger bag. “What’s stopping me from killing you?” she asks, “right here, right now?”

Philip grins at her with too many teeth. “I’ve given my doctor in Woodbury orders to tell my guards that everyone in town is infected if I don’t make it back alive,” he tells her smoothly. “Which, according to what Andrea told me, isn’t even a lie.”

Lucy bites down on the inside of her cheek hard enough that she tastes blood and bile rising up from her throat into her mouth. Apparently he can read her well enough to know she didn’t retaliate in the aftermath of the attack on the prison because Woodbury is full of children and elderly noncombatants. Lucy isn’t surprised that he would threaten his own people to get out of this, but that doesn’t make the method to his madness any less horrifying.

“You see,” Philip murmurs, “if we choose to destroy everything we’ve fought for over the past year we might as well kill everyone we know—the people at your prison, back in Woodbury, the people that we love. You know, the truth is I didn’t want any of this,” he adds as he rises to his feet and walks over to stand at the edge of the wooden platform where he set the table, “they chose me because they didn’t have any better options, but they seem to think I’m the man that can keep them safe and that I know what I’m doing.”

Lucy gulps as she tries to swallow the bile under her tongue in spite of how dry her throat feels. Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes while his back is turned. Lucy bites her lip and lets out a breath she hadn’t meant to hold. _Okay_ , she thinks, _don’t panic. You know exactly what he wants, and being quiet while he runs his mouth lets him think he’s in control of things even though he’s anything but_.

Philip glances at the retrieval specialist before he picks up his belt and puts it back on, his nickel-plated Beretta in the hostler on his hip for a quick right-handed draw while the other Beretta he brought is still on the table in front of her. “Now,” he says, “my people aren’t combat-tested like yours are, but I’ve got more of ’em. You want to wage a war, the fight’ll go down to the last man. So let’s end it,” he murmurs in a voice that is meant to sound coaxing but comes out as more of a threat, “let’s not do this. You have something I want, the one thing that makes this alright.”

Lucy narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses as her stomach churns in anticipation. _Here it comes_ , she thinks.

“I want Michonne,” Philip tells her. “You turn her over and this all goes away.”

 _Whoop_ , Lucy thinks. _There it is_.

“You think about it,” Philip says, “and I’ll be here at noon two days from now.”

Lucy adjusts her glasses and uses her cane to get back on her feet. _Hell no_ , she thinks and wonders if the atrocious implications of a white man treating the life of a black woman like a bargaining chip are lost on him. “I think we’re done here,” she murmurs.

Philip nods and puts on that creepy smile of his again. “Let me walk you out,” he says in that same oily voice that oozes like something rotten.

Lucy stands back and lets him haul the door open with a creak. _There’s no doubt in my mind about how this is going to end_ , she thinks, _he’s manipulative enough to keep his word if only because he wants to see whether or not we’re desperate enough to hand Michonne over to him. Which_ , she hobbles out into the sunlight and squints at the harsh brightness, _gives us a tactical advantage because I can send people here to ambush whoever he sends to ambush us and send other people to infiltrate Woodbury so they can protect its citizens in the event that he tries to use them against me again. I just hope that he doesn’t change his mind before another two days go by_.

* * *

_Monday, 25 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 317._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Philip takes Martinez aside as soon as they’re back in town and walking up Main Street. “Position gunmen all around that mill,” he orders, “the minute you see Michonne, you open fire. I want you to keep her and Lucy alive, but kill the others.”

Milton frowns, the space between his eyebrows furrowing. “What about the deal?” he asks.

Philip shrugs, one-shouldered. “Well,” he says, “she might send Glenn, Merle’s brother, maybe Rick, Merle himself. We can take care of the whole crew,” he murmurs and flails one hand obliquely before he adds, “it’s the best way to avoid a slaughter.”

Milton frowns even harder. “Philip,” he says, “that _is_ a slaughter.”

Philip looks him in the eye and fear unfurls in his chest. Milton swallows hard around the lump in his throat and looks away.

 _I can’t leave Woodbury_ , he thinks frantically even as the idea crosses his mind. _I belong here_.

Famous last words.


	33. Sword of Damocles

**I am not as good a listener as I am familiar with each story.**   
**I know a father’s inability to vanish, the seeds of revenge**   
**we eat from his hands. I know the tarnished coin of a mother’s love,**   
**how it sleeps in a well, dark and unspent. I know, sometimes,**   
**the most obvious things are what none of us would dare want back.**

Rachel McKibbens, “New Dogs”

* * *

 _Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 33**  
Sword of Damocles

* * *

 _Monday, 25 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 317._  
_Haralson, GA;_  
_Old Highway 85 Northbound._

* * *

Lucy starts hyperventilating in the passenger seat as soon as they leave that heavy duty SUV in their dust, the panic she kept in check during the negotiation clawing at her until her heart is beating so hard she can’t hear anything but her own pulse howling in her ears. When she calms down, they’re a mile up the road and “Bohemian Rhapsody” is spinning out of the CD player.

 _Mama_ , Freddie Mercury sings, _just killed a man. Put a gun against his head. Pulled my trigger, now he’s dead_.

Lucy snorts at the irony. _Yeah_ , she thinks, _I wish_.

It occurs to her that he was bluffing, the asshole. There was no way he could’ve executed his contingency plan to keep her from killing him or taking him prisoner, not from twenty miles away; even if his doctor had no qualms about breaking the Hippocratic oath she took by dropping the _we’re all infected_ bomb on the denizens of Woodbury, the ensuing mass hysteria would’ve started a fire not even the Governor could put out and burned his town to ashes.

Still, things would’ve gone horribly wrong on their end if she had called his bluff. It could’ve gone three ways. One, she could’ve taken him prisoner and held him hostage to keep Martinez and Shumpert from trying anything stupid. Eliot would’ve killed them if she gave the order, because he seems to think he owes his life to her and she isn’t above taking advantage of that in a dangerous situation—even though she knows he doesn’t like being a killer. Two, she could’ve shot him in the head and walked out of the mill. Martinez and Shumpert would’ve fired on them and people would’ve probably died on both sides. Daryl could’ve died, and that was a contingency she couldn’t acknowledge as anything but a catastrophe. It’s not like she’s immune to bullets, either; the contusion on her chest is living proof of that. Three, she could’ve taken all of them prisoner, but they would’ve just been dead weight. Woodbury still has an army that’s been gearing up for battle and those people aren’t going to stop being scared of the so-called terrorists in their backyard if their leader kicks the bucket or gets taken prisoner. Unfortunately, anything she might’ve done in retaliation against the Governor would’ve escalated the deathmatch between her people and his from inevitable to immediate.

It’s good things didn’t turn out another way. There were too many variables, too many risks that she didn’t want to take. Yet.

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips in a futile attempt to decompress. _Okay_ , she thinks, _either he’s so far gone he doesn’t give a shit about what happens to his people anymore or he’s smart enough to deduce that I can’t bring myself to attack Woodbury and let his people die as collateral damage. Probably both. Which isn’t going to end well for anyone_.

 _I don’t wanna die_ , Freddie Mercury sings, _sometimes I wish I’d never been born at all_ …

Lucy sighs. “You know,” she murmurs, “a year ago I was almost done with grad school. I aced my comprehensive exams. I had an archival job lined up. I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going. It felt so good to finally have my shit together. I thought…” she swallows thickly, “…that I had everything I needed. I fought so hard for that, to feel better, for a future that was _mine_. Only now I’m not digitizing special collections in Seattle, I’m stranded in post-apocalyptic Newnan and I’m the leader of a survivalist group and we’re going to war against my biological father and I’m having a meltdown because I don’t know if I made the right call—”

“You made the right call,” Eliot says. “You could’ve attacked him, risked our lives, gotten us all killed. You didn’t. You pulled your punches. That doesn’t make you weak.”

Lucy bites her lip and looks at him in the rearview mirror. _Yes it does_ , she thinks, _if pulling my punches gets people hurt or killed_.

* * *

 _Monday, 25 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 317._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

There’s a crowd of nervous people waiting for them in the inner courtyard as Daryl rides his bike up the dirt pathway with the jeep and the rig on his tail. When he opens the door for her, Lucy unfolds herself from the passenger seat and wrinkles her nose in disgust at the lingering smell of cigarettes on him; but she lets Daryl put an arm around her shoulders anyhow because the way he strokes his thumb back and forth over the words tattooed on her skin makes the anxiety buzzing in the back of her mind quiet down. After she briefs everyone on the outcome of the negotiation and explains her plan for retaliation, Lucy hobbles out of the guard station at the front end of C block and into the library to overthink her battle strategies.

Rick, meanwhile, takes Daryl aside to talk about his brother. “Merle’s been making a fuss,” he says, “we told him where you went and he dislocated his shoulder trying to break down the door of his cell because he wanted to help you by ambushing the Governor. Carol went in to help him and saw that he tore his mattress apart with his bare…” he stops before he pluralizes where he shouldn’t and his jaw clenches tight before he adds, “…hand.”

Daryl swallows hard. “Detoxin’ makes ya’ go stir crazy,” he mutters, “I was always out huntin’ in the woods around the quarry ’cause I couldn’t hold still or sleep most nights for weeks. Merle’s been usin’ longer ’n me and he liked shootin’ up or smokin’ out instead of just swallowin’ the stuff like I used to on occasion. It’s gonna be a hell of a lot harder for an addict like him t’ break the habit.”

Rick nods stiffly. Merle had been high that day, on the rooftop in Atlanta. Rick isn’t proud of how he handled things. It wasn’t his finest hour by any means, but he was desperate to find his family and he wasn’t going to let anyone stand in the way of that. Maybe that was the wrong call. It’s too late to apologize, because this is the hand they’ve been dealt—pun unintended.

Daryl squints at the former sheriff, scrutinizing. “I’ll talk t’ him,” he says gruffly.

* * *

Neeley finds Lucy behind the circulation desk in the library with the orchestral suites from Prokofiev’s _Romeo and Juliet_ playing on vinyl, the LP on her turntable spinning out “Death of Juliet” while she cries alone. Lucy wasn’t particularly close to any of her three brothers pre-apocalypse, but Puck and Morty were twenty-five and twenty-eight years older than her. Contrariwise, she’s only three years older than Neeley: he grew up with her, he came out to her as gay at thirteen and then as bisexual at fifteen, he watched _Mean Girls_ with her so many times that the DVD was scratched beyond any hope of repair, he drove her around for a month in the aftermath of her arthrodesis surgery while her arm was in a cast and a sling, he drove all the way from Puebla to Newnan because he knew their parents would never forgive him for not trying to find her in Atlanta before he tried to drive back to Seattle, and he knows she only listens to Russian composers if she feels the need to cry before she gets shit done.

Lucy hates crying in front of other people with the fire of a thousand suns, so she swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand to wipe her snot and tears away before she puts her glasses back on and stares at him. “I hope our parents are dead,” she tells him.

Neeley goes to pull up a chair behind the desk next to his sister and slouches in his seat with his arms folded over his chest. “Yeah,” he sighs because he had that same thought before he went on the road from Mexico to Georgia. “Mom wouldn’t be able to live in this world and Dad wouldn’t want to live without her.”

Their mother—Dr. Caroline Orville, Psy.D., Associate Provost of Seattle University—was fierce and a force of nature in her element, but she was also squeamish and tenderhearted to a fault. Whenever her children got hurt she would say that her womb ached, even though Lucy and Neeley were never actually in her womb. Lucy messing with her industrial piercing hurt her womb. Neeley being congested hurt her womb. Lucy being crippled and chronically ill hurt her womb. Their mother couldn’t even watch the Christopher Lee version of _Dracula_ , an adaptation of the book containing the character that she named Lucy after. _Night of the Living Dead_ had scared her shitless. There’s no way that she would be able to survive in the zombie apocalypse, not without losing herself. Which, for a woman like Caroline Orville, would be a fate worse than death.

“I have no idea how to win this war,” Lucy murmurs, “more people are going to end up dead no matter how I slice it. I could send in Eliot or Morgan to snipe the Governor over dinner, but that won’t make all those people in Woodbury any less terrified or misinformed about what my people and I are doing here. I can’t surrender, because he’s going to attack us anyway. I could strike first, but I don’t want to kill a bunch of child soldiers or the chronically ill people he drafted into his army. I could send hordes of zombies to break down his walls and wipe his town off the map, but that would make me just as bad as he is.”

Neeley can’t shake how surreal this is, that his lazy genius of a sister who used to sit around in her underwear all day because she didn’t want to put on pants unless she absolutely had to has become a post-apocalyptic warrior queen with an army of people that are gung-ho to fight for her because Lucy has taken zombie bites and bullets for them and given them her blood, her sweat, her tears, and her brainpower. “You don’t need to snipe him,” he says. “You need to turn his people against him.”

Lucy huffs. “I did think of that,” she retorts, “but I don’t know how.”

Neeley tries not to make eye contact with the horned owl inked on the back of her neck as she hunches over the desk because he doesn’t want to challenge her tattoo to another staring contest that he knows he can’t win. “You’ll figure it out,” he says matter-of-factly. “You always do.”

* * *

After he brought Merle home to the prison, Lucy had taken the keys to the tombs in the basement away from Daryl and Glenn because they were too emotionally compromised for different reasons to keep them. Kate opens the doors for him and lets him into the cell where his brother has been locked up for almost five days now.

 _Hey_ , Daryl had said to Glenn that morning, _you think you could ever forgive my brother for what he did? Give him a chance t’ make it right?_

 _Merle tied me to a chair_ , Glenn had told him through clenched teeth, _beat the shit out of me, and threw a zombie in the room. Maybe I could try and call it even, but he…he took Maggie to a man who terrorized her, humiliated her, violated her. I care more about her than I care about me_.

 _Yeah_ , Daryl had said thickly, _I know what that’s like_.

If the guy who raped Lucy was here, he would put a bolt in that guy without blinking and watch him bleed out nice and slow. Merle didn’t sexually assault Maggie, but he might as well’ve because he knew exactly what the Governor was capable of and he brought her to him anyhow. It makes him sick to know his brother could do that to anyone, let alone his friends.

Merle is sitting on top of the shitty mattress Carol gave him to replace the one that he ripped to shreds with a paperback copy of _Jailbird_ by Kurt Vonnegut in his hand, his eyes bloodshot and his grin a gruesome peel of his lips away from his teeth. It’s one of the books Lucy brought with her in her trailer, meaning she must’ve gone out of her way and hobbled into the basement to give his brother something to read.

Daryl has to stifle a smile at that before he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his vest and leans back against the stone wall by the door his brother had tried and failed to break through while he was gone. “You look like crap,” he says.

Merle smirks at him. “I feel worse than I look,” he says dryly. “I can’t stay cooped up in this place like an animal no more, man…” he arches one eyebrow and creases the spine of the book as he splays it over his knee, “…you think you can get your girlfriend to let me outta here?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Whatever she says goes,” he tells him softly.

Merle snorts. “Fuck,” he snarls, “d’you even possess a pair of balls, little brother? I mean, are they even attached? If they are, do they belong t’ you? Look at you, so pussy-whipped you can’t even help your own brother out. What happened t’ you?” he spits on the floor and sneers at him. “You’ve gone soft. You know that, don’tcha?”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ soft,” Daryl retorts.

Merle scoffs. “You chose that bitch over me,” he growls. “Twice.”

Daryl swallows hard. “I chose t’ be happy with her instead of bein’ miserable with you like I always was before all this,” he grits out. “I chose me over you for the first time in our whole damn lives, and I ain’t gonna apologize for it ’cause I ain’t sorry. I’m in love, and I’m _happy_. What the hell’s wrong with you that you can’t just be happy for me, that you can’t even try t’ make up for all the shit you’ve done so I don’t have t’ lose you again?”

Merle screws his eyes shut and exhales in a jagged huff. If his shoulder didn’t hurt every time he tries to move, he would’ve tried to throw a punch by now.

“I just want my big brother back,” Daryl whispers so low that he almost doesn’t catch it.

Merle swallows hard around the lump in his throat and chokes back tears because it’ll be a cold day in hell before he lets his little brother see him cry. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says vehemently, “get outta here, man.”

“Fine,” Daryl mutters.

Merle is broken, always has been. Their father did such a number on him that he never had much of a shot at being any other way. Daryl just hopes his brother can learn how to put himself back together before it’s too late.


	34. Reckless

**We met over a small**  
**earthquake. Now, my knees**  
**shake whenever**  
**you come around**  
**and I’ve noticed your hand  
**has a slight tremor.****

Daphne Gottlieb, “I Have Always Confused Desire with Apocalypse”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 34**  
Reckless

* * *

_Monday, 25 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 317._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After he goes on watch from dusk till midnight, Daryl walks into the library and finds Lucy sprawled on their bed wearing one of his shirts and a pair of black lace panties. It’s a black and blue plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off and half the buttons undone, and she’s not wearing a bra underneath. Still, the part of her that he zeroes in on is the furrow in between her eyebrows peeking out from under the sweep of the bangs that blunt her forehead, her fingernails bitten down to the quick. It’s been a hard day, and things keep going from bad to worse.

 _Lucy is outstanding under pressure_ , Cath had said, _but trying to stand with the weight of your lives and your hopes on her shoulders would freaking crush her_.

Daryl crouches to take his shoes and socks off before he strips down to his underwear, hanging his vest on the back of a chair by one of the desks scattered around the room and kicking his jeans into a wad of wrinkled denim. Lucy squints at him and sets the copy of  _Warm Bodies_ that she was reading aside before she puts her glasses back on. When he gets in bed with her, their mattress huffs out a feeble squeak before it adapts to his weight. Lucy stops frowning and lets him tilt her chin up so he can kiss her softly, the rough pad of his thumb stroking the stubborn curve of her jaw. Daryl breaks the kiss to nuzzle his forehead against hers and hunches to bury his face in the crook of her neck while she tangles one hand in his hair and clings to one of his shoulders with the other.

“I made a mistake,” Lucy mumbles. “I shouldn’t’ve gone ahead with the extraction plan. I should’ve waited to see if the Governor would let Glenn and Maggie go without a fight before I sent you in, but I heard him on the radio. I heard him order her to take her shirt off. I heard him slam her facedown on a table. I heard the horrible noises he made while he was assaulting her,” she digs her fingers into his clavicle and swallows hard before she adds, “I didn’t care about how wrong things would go. I had to get Andrea out of there. I let my trauma cloud my judgment. I got those men killed. Oscar, Axel, those men you and Rick gunned down in Woodbury…their deaths are my fault.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils and grits his teeth in a futile attempt to stifle the growl that unfurls deep in his chest. Lucy had told him that her ex-boyfriend held her facedown while he raped her, and that him fucking her from behind in the woods that first time had actually helped her override those bad memories with better ones. Unfortunately, true love doesn’t magically cure your trauma. Lucy is always going to think like a survivor, and sometimes that means she wants to keep someone from going through the hell she went through by any means necessary and damn the consequences. Daryl inhales deeply through his nose to breathe in the intoxicating scent of her skin mingling with the wild smell of black cherries that got caught in her hair before he pulls back and looks her in the eyes, holding her gaze with such intensity that she wants to shy away. “It ain’t your fault,” he tells her softly, “you hear me? Oscar volunteered t’ infiltrate Woodbury even though he knew his life was at stake. We told him as much and he still went. Axel gettin’ shot ain’t your fault, neither. If you gotta blame somebody, blame the Gov’nor.”

Lucy sighs. “There’s enough blame for everyone,” she murmurs.

Daryl fists one hand in the hair at the nape of her neck and pulls hard enough to make a soft noise snag in her throat as her arousal seeps out of her to soak the crotch of her underwear. “It ain’t your fault,” he echoes, “you hear me, darlin’?”

Lucy narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses before she kisses him hard, harder, hardest. It’s bruising and brutal in spite of how soft her mouth is, the sting of her teeth nipping at his bottom lip sharp and sweet enough to make his dick throb and twitch while he frots against her bare thigh. Daryl kisses her back roughly, tugging on her hair and thrusting his tongue deep inside her mouth; but even in the heat of the moment he’s careful not to crawl on top of her or make her feel pinned down because he knows Lucy’s under pressure. Hell, she has the weight of what’s left of the world on her shoulders.

Daryl breaks the kiss because he tastes salt on her lips and licks from the corner of her mouth to the apple of her cheek with the flat of his tongue to chase her tears away. Lucy sniffles and lets him take her glasses off, folding them and tucking the temple into the front pocket of his shirt so they don’t get broken. Daryl hunches to kiss her chin, the soft jut of her jawline, cupping her face in his rough palm and stroking the flab on top of her cheekbone with his thumb.

“Speaking of who’s to blame,” Lucy whispers as she puts her glasses back on, “how’s Merle? Carol told me that he dislocated his shoulder.”

Daryl shrugs and smiles at her. “Merle said I’m pussy-whipped,” he drawls. “I think he’s right.”

Lucy chortles and kisses the mole above one corner of his mouth, his stubble rough against her lips before she pulls back and nuzzles his nose with hers. “I think we both know that I’m the submissive one in the context of carnal shenanigans,” she points out, “but taking my orders in any context doesn’t make you less of a man or some bullshit. It sure as shit doesn’t make you whipped or weak or whatever.”

Daryl nods brusquely. “I know,” he says before he slips one hand in between her thighs and hunches to kiss her on the lips again.

* * *

_Tuesday, 26 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 318._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Merle hasn’t been eating his dinner for three nights in a row, but no one thinks to inform Lucy of that pertinent fact until he throws a bowl of hot soup at Rick instead of letting it go to waste on the floor by the door of his cell in the tombs.

“I don’t know why he’s not eating his dinner,” Carol says. “It’d be one thing if Merle wasn’t eating breakfast or lunch either, but he has been.”

Lucy had ordered the people who brought Merle his meals not to give him a tray, not to give him silverware, not to give him anything that he could use to hurt himself or anyone else. It’s less about a lack of trust and more about how a person going through withdrawal from crystal meth is volatile and potentially dangerous, even if that person isn’t a murderer who’s killed sixteen men in cold blood. Lucy cocks her head owlishly and tugs her bottom lip in between her teeth in thought. _Daryl told me that going through meth withdrawal made him hungry_ , she thinks. _I don’t think detoxing is supposed to make someone lose their appetite_. “We’ve been serving different kinds of soup at dinner for three days,” she murmurs. “We haven’t had leftovers, with all of the newcomers. Daryl said Merle wasn’t allergic or averse to minestrone, potato leek, or stroganoff…” she fizzles out as comprehension dawns and sighs, “…I know why he’s not eating.”

Carol frowns as she uses her cane to get back on her feet and hobbles to the doorway. “Care to share with the class?” she asks.

Lucy sighs as she hobbles down the stairs to the ground floor of the main building with Carol behind her. “Merle is one-handed,” she murmurs. “We didn’t give him a spoon, or a tray, or a table. There’s no way for him to eat soup because he can’t lift a bowl and slurp it without making a mess, and with his other arm in a sling he can’t eat at all. I bet he took the sling off to eat breakfast and lunch even though you told him that he shouldn’t.”

“Sandwiches are finger food,” Carol says as Lucy unlocks the door to the hallway that connects the main building to C block, “and Daryl eats scrambled eggs with his hands. Merle probably eats the same way.”

“Yup,” Lucy says and pops the _p_ sound. “Speaking of Daryl,” she adds as she walks into the guard station at the front end of C block and balances a plastic bowl on the crook of her elbow as she scoops a ladle of stroganoff into it, “tell him that I’m going to see Merle and I don’t want him to interfere.”

“Daryl isn’t going to like that,” Carol points out.

Lucy shrugs, one-shouldered. “Daryl isn’t in charge here,” she retorts matter-of-factly, “I am. It’s my call, and I’m going to see Merle.”

After she hobbles down the stairs into the tombs with the bowl of soup and a spoon in the pocket of her skirt, Lucy unlocks the door to the only cell in solitary confinement with an occupant and lets Eliot haul it open before she hobbles inside. There’s a splatter of soup dripping from the wall onto the floor, but someone has cleaned up the fragments of the bowl that broke into shards.

Lucy remembers how it felt to suffer a dislocated shoulder, to run into a wall to put it back in place; it would’ve hurt like hell for Merle to throw a bowl at Rick, to chuck it with enough force to shatter it against the stone wall.

Merle glares at her as the door shuts behind her and she props her cane in one corner of his cell. “What the hell’re you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice taut with pain.

Lucy sighs. “I’m here to help you,” she informs him, “open up.”

Merle narrows his eyes at the spoonful of soup in her hand and scoffs. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls at her, “I ain’t gonna let ya’ feed me like I’m a goddamn invalid.”

Lucy rolls her eyes at him before she flops to sit on the mattress to his left and puts the bowl of soup in between her knees. “When I was eighteen,” she murmurs, “my wrist started to hurt. I didn’t go see a doctor because I thought it was tendonitis and it would go away just like it had before. After the pain didn’t go away, I went in and my doctor told me that I was right: it was tendonitis and it should go away in three months. I got a brace and a sling and orders to stop using my arm. I dropped out of college because I couldn’t drive myself to school or write anything down in class. I waited three months and then I waited three more, but I was still in pain. I went in and made my doctor order more tests, and my tests said I had an incurable autoimmune disease. I was nineteen by then, and I couldn’t feed myself for almost a year while I was learning to use my other hand for everything. I either ate finger food or I had to let my mother feed me. I hated it,” she adds as she glances at him over her shoulder and forces herself to look him in the eyes, “and I hated myself for being incapable. I know it’s not exactly the same…” she flicks her gaze to the gauntlet on his forearm that she let him keep because she knows he wears it partly to overcompensate by looking badass and partly to cover the oversensitized burn scars from cauterizing his stump, “…I still have my hands. I’m also the only person here who has any idea at all about what you’re going through, so you need to stop being an asshole and just let me help you.”

“Fine,” Merle growls and grits his teeth around the word before he opens his mouth and lets her feed him a spoonful of soup.

Lucy smiles at him caustically. “Look on the bright side,” she says, “at least your legs work.”

Merle sniggers and smiles back at her in spite of himself. “I didn’t peg you for someone with a dark sense of humor,” he says.

Lucy shrugs again. “I hate crying,” she informs him, “laughing feels better, even if what you’re laughing at shouldn’t be funny.”

Merle nods, a bobble of his head. “You love him?” he asks, “my little brother?”

Lucy stops to feed him another mouthful of soup before she answers. “You wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t,” she deadpans.

Merle narrows his eyes at the pissed off arch of her eyebrows, the ruthless look in her pale gray eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin. “You really mean it, don’tcha?” he asks her even though he already knows she does. “You’re one stone-cold bitch.”

Lucy exhales a soft whoosh of air. “You could’ve trusted Glenn and waited to see Daryl,” she retorts. “You didn’t. You took my people captive. You almost beat Glenn to death for something Rick did. You left Maggie alone with a man who sexually assaulted her.”

“Y’all look at me like I’m the devil,” Merle snarls at her through clenched teeth, “grabbin’ up those lovebirds like I did. You know things’re different now,” he swallows around the spoon before he spits the utensil out, “people do what they’ve gotta do or they die. Maybe ya’ need somebody like me around to do your dirty work, if y’ain’t got the stomach for it.”

Lucy scoffs. “You’re the reason we’re at war right now,” she snarls back at him before she hunches to put the empty bowl of soup on the floor and hobbles over to grab her cane, “the reason two good men died for my cause. You hurt Daryl. You left him alone with a man who scarred him for life, in the literal and figural sense of the phrase. You told him that no one else was ever going to give a shit about him…” she hisses on the sibilant in _shit_ as she stands in front of him, “…and he believed it.”

Merle flinches and makes a strangled noise in his throat as she steps on his feet, pins his stump to the wall, and uses her cane to put a painful amount of pressure on his shoulder. It makes him think of the alligator that he and Daryl had snared, of how a beast had become their prey. Looking at her makes him feel utterly overwhelmed, like a man facing down a force of nature.

Lucy glares at him from behind her glasses and as the handle of her cane digs into the meat of his clavicle. “Let me make one thing abundantly clear,” she murmurs. “I love Daryl with all my heart, and that is the only reason I didn’t order my people to shoot you on sight for your crimes. I don’t need you, I don’t trust you, and I don’t forgive you for any of the shit you’ve done to the people that I care about.”

Merle clenches his jaw and exhales in a huff through his nostrils as she steps back to take the pressure off, and in a twisted way that almost makes him feel lonely. “I get it now,” he wheezes. “What my little brother sees in you…” he winces and rolls his shoulder in its socket, “…you’re a hell of a lot stronger ’n you look.”

Lucy stops to muffle a yawn in the hollow of her palm as her earpiece beeps. When she hobbles into the hallway with the empty bowl and spoon, she sees Daryl waiting for her and dropping eaves—exactly like she knew he would. Lucy glances at Eliot and the hitter lets the door creak shut behind her before she taps her radio and tunes in.

“Medusa,” Jacqui says on the other end of the frequency, “someone’s at the gate.”

“Who?” Lucy wants to know.

“It’s Milton,” Andrea tells her, “he says he’s defecting from Woodbury.”


	35. Turning Circles

**Ferment**  
**your gut into a room**  
**for broken bottles**  
**and handguns, hard angles**  
**your fist never completely closes**  
**around. Those who say theirs do**  
**are lying, sweetheart.**

Katie Longofono, “Open Hand Slap”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 35**  
Turning Circles

* * *

_Tuesday, 26 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 318._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_The Dark Forest._

* * *

Milton didn’t notice how alone he feels in Woodbury until Andrea left. After she helped him with Mr. Coleman, he thought he’d finally made another friend. It’s a good feeling, and he wants to hold onto that; not unlike how he had been clinging to his friendship with Philip even though he can see that his friend is losing himself, crawling into a bottle and getting drunk on his own power.

It isn’t until he sees the room Philip has turned into a torture chamber for Michonne that he realizes his friend is too far gone. Andrea has left Woodbury, and no one else is going to stop the madness. It falls to him, and for the first time in his life he takes action instead of standing back and watching as things fall apart. Milton has always been an observer, a fly on the wall; he writes everything down, but he never does anything worth writing about.

When he sneaks outside the walls through an escape hatch Andrea had shown him and drives to the screamer pits to set the zombies on fire so Philip couldn’t bring them to the mill and use them as part of his ambush, Milton knows he can’t go back to Woodbury. There’s no one else who could warn the people at the prison, no one else who could save the citizens of Woodbury from their Governor.

There are hordes upon hordes of the undead on the highway, on every backroad from Woodbury to the prison. Milton watches the drone that flies over him while he walks in a garbage bag coated with blood and gore among the zombies, wonders if the drone has a thermographic camera for night vision. There’s no swarm of zombies shambling out of the shadows, and he makes it out of the dark forest alive.

When he arrives at the front gate of the prison, Milton shuts his eyes at the harsh brightness of the light they shine on him. _Lux in tenebris_ , he thinks idly.

“I defected from Woodbury!” he shouts at whoever is up in the tower by the gatehouse with the spotlight. “I’m here to warn you—”

Milton opens his eyes and shuts his mouth abruptly at the sound of electricity humming before the gate swings open. There’s a whizzbang of noise that ricochets in the night air as one of the people in the tower snipes the zombies shambling up the gravel road behind him. Andrea pulls him into a hug as the gate shuts with a metallic clunk in his wake.

It feels like coming home.

* * *

_Tuesday, 26 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 318._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Milton has always been a man of science—and from the moment that Andrea told him about Lucy, he should have seen this coming. There’s no hope in Woodbury, only a thin veneer of brittle nostalgia to hide the horror from the townspeople that has been rotting away since the night that Philip lost his little girl.

 _Let me ask you something_ , Philip had snarled at him that morning, _do you still believe the zombies have a spark left in them of who they were?_

 _I think so_ , Milton had stuttered and for the first time the words tasted like a lie. Almost like ashes in his mouth.

 _Well_ , Philip had said, _then that was my daughter. Wasn’t it?_

 _Whether that was Penny or not, it’s done_ , Milton had told him solemnly, _it doesn’t matter_.

 _Oh_ , Philip had said in his strychnine voice, _it’s all that matters_.

After the outer gate shuts behind him and she confiscates his pocketknife and his gun, Andrea takes Milton through the inner gate and into the administration building. It’s built out of roughhewn brick, while the cell blocks are built out of slabs of stone. Merle had planned a raid on the prison six months ago, but then he went to check it out with Martinez and Crowley and saw that it was overrun with hundreds of zombies. Philip had written it off as too deep in the red zone because the redneck said it couldn’t be scavenged for supplies. Lucy Orville had cleared it out in a day and made it her new home, a base of operations for curing the zombie virus and rebuilding society. There isn’t much physical resemblance between her and Philip—they both have brown hair, and that’s where the similarity ends—but their endgame was the same once upon a time.

“You don’t look much like him,” Milton says as she folds herself into a chair behind the desk across from him. “You look more like his father.”

Lucy cocks her head owlishly. “Blake said the same thing at the mill,” she murmurs. “I got the feeling that he and his father didn’t have the best relationship.”

“No,” Milton says and ekes the _oh_ sound out awkwardly, “he thought Philip was a disappointment.”

Lucy snorts because some of the notes the Governor took in the margins of his record books said as much. _One good thing about being adopted: I may have felt like a freak of nature growing up_ , she thinks, _but I never doubted that I was loved or that my parents were proud of who I grew up to be. I couldn’t’ve disappointed them if I tried_. “Yeah,” she says, “I’m guessing that knocking my biological mother up didn’t help with that.”

Milton fidgets with his fingers and looks away because he doesn’t know how to respond to that. Philip never told him why he transferred to UGA; he let the knee injury that killed his dream of being a star quarterback speak for itself. There was more to the story, but Milton didn’t know about it until he heard Philip tell Martinez that he wants Lucy alive because he wants his daughter to conduct her research in Woodbury where he can keep an eye on her—even if that means killing all of her friends at the prison. Although if the intense way that Merle’s brother is glaring at him from where he’s leaning back against the circulation desk behind her with one hand on the hilt of his hunting knife is any indication, they aren’t just friends.

Lucy muffles a yawn in the hollow of her palm. “Okay,” she says and stretches the _oh_ sound out into a soft _ooh_ , “you said you came to warn us. What do you need to warn us about?”

“Philip—” Milton says and hesitates before he corrects himself, “—the Governor is planning on ambushing you at the mill tomorrow. I immolated the zombies he planned on using to attack your people. I’m a traitor now,” he glances over his shoulder at Nate and Sophie, “not unlike some of the others from Woodbury to whom you’ve given sanctuary.”

Toby keeps one hand on the small of her back as Cath folds her arms tight across her chest and stares at the scientist with her cartoonishly big brown eyes narrowed into slits of suspicion. “You went and set the screamer pits on fire?” he asks.

“Yes,” Milton tells him mildly. “There’s no going back now.”

Lucy slants her gaze to Parker, who gets the message and goes to get Alec to send a drone to the screamer pits to confirm his story. It’s not much of a risk, since the pits are located far enough outside of Woodbury that nobody will see their eye in the night sky. “We knew about the ambush,” she informs him. “I’m a smart girl. I knew Blake wasn’t going to keep his word or adhere to his terms of our surrender under any circumstances. I’m guessing he ordered his goons to take me and Michonne alive, and slaughter the rest?”

Milton nods, a slow descent of his chin. “Philip set up a torture chamber where he plans on punishing Michonne for killing Penny,” he says.

Lucy narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses. “Blake is planning on locking me up in the cage where he kept her corpse,” she deduces, “isn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Milton says, “he told me that he wanted you where he could keep an eye on you. I think, in his own way, he just wants to keep you safe.”

Lucy snorts and makes a garbled noise in the back of her throat. “I don’t give a crap about what he wants,” she retorts. “No one is safe with that narcissistic creep. I get that you’ve been friends with him since I was growing in the womb of the girl he abandoned in the Emerald City, but you’re here now because you can’t turn a blind eye to what a monster he really is anymore.”

Daryl nods brusquely. “Y’know what they say,” he drawls, “the road to hell’s paved with good intentions. I think we all know where that psycho’s goin’ after we put his ass in the ground.”

Lucy bites her bottom lip in a futile attempt to stifle a smile because her boyfriend being bloodthirsty is kind of hot and that makes her think something might be horribly wrong with her, but she doesn’t give a fuck. “Andrea vouched for you,” she says, “but that doesn’t mean I trust you. I can tell you’re smart, because only smart people like us can grow up lacking any semblance of common sense. It’s physically impossible to reverse the process of decomposition and decay. I know that your specialty was cognitive behavior, and as a neuroscientist you should’ve realized that zombies are too far gone.”

“What proof do you have of that?” Milton asks her more out of scientific curiosity than anything else.

Lucy opens the laptop in front of her on the desk and clicks through to the archival footage of Candace in her final moments. “I don’t know how much Andrea told you about our visit to the C. D. C. ten months ago,” she says, “but this is your brain on the zombie virus. It enters the bloodstream, invades and inflames the brain through the subarachnoid cavity like meningococcal bacteria, and destroys the central nervous systems of those infected. Dr. Candace Jenner, the woman who discovered the HZV-A viral pathogen, tried to create a vaccine using an attenuated version of the live virus. After one of her test subjects zombified and took a bite out of her, she recorded the process of her amplification for science. Dr. Edwin Jenner, her husband, gave me all of the research the C. D. C. and the W. H. O. were doing on the zombie virus before the disease went global and the power grid failed.”

“What…” Milton swallows thickly as the silent gunshot splits the skull of the woman on the screen. “What happened to him?” he wants to know.

Daryl squints at the neuroscientist, scrutinizing. “Doc opted out,” he says gruffly, “killed himself ’cause he didn’t wanna live without the woman he loved no more and blew up C. D. C. headquarters in the process.”

Milton looks at him as his eyes go wide behind his glasses for a fraction of a second. “You’re going to kill Philip,” he says.

Daryl shrugs. “You think we can stop him without killin’ him?” he asks.

“No,” Milton says and slumps his shoulders to hunch over the desk while he fidgets with his fingers. “No, I don’t.”

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips and breaks the awkward silence that ensues. “I never wanted to fight this war,” she murmurs. “I had a plan: find a place to settle with my people, scavenge the necessary equipment and supplies, and save the world. Merle fucked that plan with a chainsaw. Nine people are dead, but that’s not my fault. Blake gave the shoot to kill order that escalated my extraction contingency into a shootout, he retaliated by coming here and firing assault rifles through the fences to terrorize us into trading Michonne for peace that he doesn’t intend to keep, he drafted children into the army he plans to use to storm my castle, and he’s the reason more people are going to die tomorrow. I won’t let him lock me away like some fairytale princess in a tower…” she adjusts her glasses and slams the laptop shut before she adds, “…he brought me into the world and I’m going to take him out.”


	36. One for the Road

**You ought to know better than to hope.**  
**You are not so lucky—there is no fuse for you to find.**  
**For you and your family, there will be no quick ticket to Getaway Kingdom.**

 **Think, all of this glorious mess could have been yours—**  
**not long ago, your brother lived with you.**  
**What was it you called it? “One last shot,”**  
**a three-quarter-court heave, a buzzer-beater to win something of him back,**  
**but who were you kidding?**  
**You took him into your home with no naïve hopes of saving him,**  
**but instead to ease the guilt of never having tried.**

Natalie Diaz, “How to Go to Dinner with a Brother on Drugs”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 36**  
One for the Road

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

After he visited the redneck to apologize for the way things went down back in Atlanta, Rick struck up a conversation on the off chance that he might get more out of their prisoner by talking to him instead of interrogating him without the pretense. Merle was smart enough to see right through him from the start, but he was bored and he was lonely. Although he would die before he would ever admit that. Rick doesn’t like Merle all that much, but talking to him kills time and keeps him occupied with something that isn’t hallucinating the ghost of his dead wife.

 _Merle, do you even know why you do the things you do?_ Rick had asked, _the choices you make?_

 _Nah_ , Merle had answered, _I dunno why I do the things I do. Never did. I’m a damn mystery t’ me…but I know you, Rick. I’ve thought a lot about you. Daryl said you were the leader for a while, ’til Lucy ousted you ’cause y’ain’t got the spine for it_.

Maybe that would’ve stung, if Rick hadn’t come to terms with how much better off they are with her as their leader. Lucy is the reason they’ve put down roots here, the reason they’ve got something worth fighting for.

When he walks into the library, the girl in question is dressed to kill in body armor over black leggings under a skirt with the deepest of pockets and a faded gray shirt. Cath braided her burnished hair and pinned it around her head in a facsimile of a crown with tendrils of soft frizz slithering out to oscillate around her face while she loads a box of grenades into her backpack. Medusa has never been a more apt name for Lucy, with her snakelike hair and pale eyes that could turn her enemies into stone.

 _More people are going to die tomorrow_ , Lucy had told Milton. Only now tomorrow is today, and their anxious yet fiercely competent leader isn’t avoiding the inevitable anymore.

“I think we should let him out,” Rick tells her.

Lucy adjusts her glasses and narrows her eyes as she frowns at him incredulously. “Who, Merle?” she asks. “Why in the hell would I let him out?”

“Merle knows the Governor’s battle tactics better than anyone,” Rick points out, “he has firsthand experience that Milton doesn’t have of planning the raids and executing them.”

Lucy shakes her head slowly as she loads extra clips of .22 caliber slugs into her messenger bag. “Merle’s an addict who’s been going through withdrawal for a week,” she retorts, “and he dislocated his shoulder two days ago. Someone like him would be a liability on the battlefield, not an asset.”

“We could send him in alone,” Rick suggests. “We’ve got surveillance all over that mill. Merle could kill the Governor and his men, snipe them while we watch and tell him where they are. We wouldn’t have to risk any of our people—”

Lucy silences him with a look. “I’m not going to send a crippled meth addict on a fucking suicide mission,” she hisses at him. “I wouldn’t do that even if the crippled meth addict we’re talking about wasn’t my boyfriend’s emotionally abusive older brother, because I’m not a monster.”

“You’re crippled,” Rick points out.

Lucy glares at him so harshly that he flinches and looks away. “Yes,” she tells him quietly, “and you need to check your privilege and stop throwing slurs around to make a point. T-Dog said you used the N word on that rooftop before you cuffed Merle, too. I know we’re trying to build a brave new world here, but those who don’t pay attention to their history are doomed to repeat it. There are words that aren’t meant for someone like you to use. If you can’t think critically enough to understand why that is, then keep your mouth shut.”

 _There’s only dark meat and white meat_ , Rick had told Merle that day on the rooftop of the Healy building. _There’s us, and the dead. We survive this by pulling together, not apart_.

Daryl emerges from where he was taking a leak in the bathroom and finds them stewing in the most awkward of silences. Lucy looks pissed; Rick looks guilty. Those two are like oil and water—they don’t mix and they shouldn’t be left alone together. “What’s goin’ on?” he wants to know.

“Rick was just suggesting that I send Merle in alone to kamikaze the Governor,” Lucy informs him acerbically.

Daryl clenches his jaw and growls low in his throat. “What the hell, Rick?” he snarls.

Rick holds up his hands in surrender. “Hear me out,” he says. “Merle knows the Governor’s tactics, he knows how he thinks, he could help us end this war. We can watch his back, make sure that he doesn’t get hurt.”

Daryl slants his gaze to Lucy, who’s gnawing on her thumbnail without biting through it. “Maybe he’s got a point,” he murmurs. “We could give it a shot, give Merle a chance to make things right by takin’ down the Gov’nor.”

Lucy shakes her head slowly. “Merle isn’t in any shape to fight,” she says, “he’s been going through withdrawal for days and he’s injured. I doubt he can lift his arm high enough for headshots with a handgun, and with a rifle the kickback would be seriously painful—”

Daryl puts one hand on her plump face, the only chink in her armor. “Lucy,” he says her name in a low drawl with a rough edge of vulnerability in the grit of his voice, “Merle’s been goin’ crazy sittin’ on his ass in the tombs. What happened with Glenn and Maggie, he wants t’ make it right. I need ya’ t’ give him a chance. Please.”

 _Famous last words_ , Lucy thinks.

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Senoia, GA;_  
_Old Highway 85._

* * *

Lucy flops onto her back to lie down in the rig and catastrophizes all the way from Newnan to Haralson, twenty miles of thinking about everything that could go horribly wrong. Anton is driving her because Michonne insisted on being part of the ambush, because if their plan to kill him fails then Blake can take her back to Woodbury and that might put off any raids on the prison. It’s chilling, but Michonne cares more about protecting Andre than saving herself from a slow and painful death by torture. Nate, Eliot, Alec, and Parker are in another rig monitoring the surveillance network at the feed mill from a safe distance with a drone to watch their backs. Daryl wouldn’t be left behind, since he sweet talked her into letting his brother risk his life in a doomed attempt to make things right with Glenn and Maggie; not that she would have been able to ride off into battle without him anyhow, because he goes where she goes.

“Y’know,” Merle drawls, “we’d go out on runs, he’d bash in somebody’s skull or slash somebody’s throat and he’d say ‘never waste a bullet.’ I always thought it was just an excuse.”

Lucy adjusts her glasses and opens her eyes. “You were still loyal to him,” she murmurs. “You still murdered people on his orders.”

“You’re a killer too,” Merle points out. “You shot a man just to watch him die. Daryl told me.”

Lucy shrugs, because she killed a rapist and she has no regrets about that. “When you become a killer, it’s because your victim was trying to hurt you or someone else,” she murmurs. “When you become a murderer, it’s because your victim was innocent. I think you’re smart enough to understand the difference.”

“I’ve murdered sixteen men since all this went down,” Merle says quietly. There’s a twang of regret in his voice now that he knows they weren’t mercy killings, that Blake used him as a weapon instead of pulling the trigger just because he could.

“You never killed anyone before?” Michonne asks.

“No,” Merle says and shakes his head.

“How about before Woodbury?” Michonne wants to know, “before you met him?”

“No,” Merle says through clenched teeth and shakes his head again.

Michonne narrows her eyes at him. “So,” she says, “he saves your ass, cleans you up, feeds you a line of bullshit, and you’re going to make things right by killing him? How do you plan on living with yourself when this is all over?”

 _I don’t_ , Merle thinks, but he doesn’t say that out loud. After all, with his brother watching his back he actually has a shot at making it out of this alive.

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Haralson, GA;_  
_Esco Feed Mill._

* * *

Merle has a plan: to go in alone with music blasting out of the speakers in a car he hotwired as a distraction that should lure any zombies in the area to the mill and go out in a blaze of glory. It makes Lucy grind her teeth because she knows he’s being a coward, knows he’d rather die in battle than live with himself and struggle to survive like the rest of them. Merle is a black hole of a person who collapsed and left a warped space that sucks up all of the light in his life, and Daryl loves him in spite of everything he’s done. Lucy still doesn’t want to take his choice away. If the asshole wants to die, she isn’t going to stop him.

After he clambers into the 1990 Caprice he jacked, Merle cranks the stereo to its maximum volume until sound booms out of the vehicle and reverberates down the road in his wake. Lucy stashes her messenger bag, her backpack, and cane in the passenger seat of the 1973 Impala that Daryl hotwired for her and goes on tiptoe to kiss him. It’s not a goodbye kiss, but she lets herself linger and savors the feeling of his calloused fingers gnarling into the flesh of her waist like he wants to use his hands to put down roots in her body and never let her go.

Michonne offers to ride in the passenger seat to keep up the ruse of them bringing her to the Governor like a lamb to the slaughter, but Lucy doesn’t want to risk it. Andre lost his mother once, and he’s not going to lose her again—not on her watch.

Philip actually has the gall to smile at her as she unfolds from inside the Impala and stands with the car in between them, its rusted body the closest thing she has to a shield. “Were you hoping to trade yourself instead of Michonne?” he asks.

Lucy shrugs and gnaws on the inside of her cheek as bile rises in her throat. “I’ve thought about you in some capacity ever since I was five years old,” she tells him softly, “I overheard my mother and my sister talking about how she was adopted and so was I. After that, I started to fantasize about who my biological parents were.”

“Medusa,” Alec comes in over the radio, “he’s got twenty men armed with assault rifles scattered around the mill.”

Eliot nods, more to himself than anyone else. “Ben’s one of ’em,” he adds, “but no other kids.”

Lucy swallows thickly. _Milton said they only had twenty-six people over eighteen in town_ , she thinks, _including those with chronic illnesses. Ben is seventeen, so they must have eight adults supervising the child soldiers and guarding the walls back in Woodbury_. “When I was a teenager,” she says in the phlegmatic voice that she uses to avoid infodumping at the speed of light, “I felt like such a freak of nature. I would fantasize that you were mutants, like the X-Men, or metahumans, like the superheroes in the Justice League, or aliens from a galaxy far, far away, or mythological creatures, gods or monsters. I needed to believe that I wasn’t a freak, that I was special. Which I am,” she adds as she glances down at the scars on her arms obscured by the sleeves of her shirt, “because the immunity that I’m ninety-seven percent sure I inherited from you is the post-apocalyptic equivalent of a superpower.”

Daryl listens to her quietly since he’s heard all of this before. Lucy had told him that she used to make up stories about her biological parents, that she wanted them to come for her and take her wherever she belonged. It’s not that she doesn’t know how lucky she is to be Lucy Orville instead of Lucy Blake or Lucy Karasuma or any of the other versions of herself that she could’ve been. Lucy is just in mourning for an almost, in the aftermath of meeting the monster who answered the question of _What if?_ that was in the back of her mind for most of her life.

“I wasn’t hoping for anything from you.” Lucy draws one of her .38 Special revolvers and glares at him from behind her glasses as she cocks the hammer and takes aim at his only eye. “I just came here to kill you.”


	37. Battle Cry

**Grief**  
**slipping through the wide open mouth,**  
**this animal scream**  
**cutting itself from the back of the throat,**  
**this salt**  
**burying itself inside the open wound.**  
**Let’s start there.**  
**Let’s start with the pitiful**  
**and work our way back.**

Emily Palermo, “A Creation Tale”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 37**  
Battle Cry

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Haralson, GA;_  
_Esco Feed Mill._

* * *

Lucy doesn’t get a chance to pull the trigger and shoot the Governor in the face because Merle drives up with Ted Nugent blasting and starts popping off rounds. When she ducks behind the Impala for cover, she finds Martinez holding her at gunpoint. Lucy arches her eyebrows at him like a challenge as gunfire ricochets around them until the noise decays into yowling and gnashing of teeth.

“Medusa,” Eliot says on the radio, “fifteen of his guys are dead.”

Lucy regrets not putting her earplugs in, but it’s too late for that now. “What are you fighting for?” she asks the man aiming his MP5K at her.

Martinez frowns at her as she points her revolver at him. “What?” he snaps.

Lucy cocks her head owlishly. “Blake is doing this because Michonne killed his zombified daughter,” she says, “whom he kept in a cage while her corpse was rotting away because it’s physically impossible to reverse the process of decomposition and therefore impossible to reverse the process of zombification. What makes you think his inability to process his grief in a healthy way is worth fighting a war that no one is winning?” she glances at the cord around his neck where he wears his wedding band. “Daryl told me that you lost your wife and kids,” she adds, “is that why?”

Martinez lowers his submachine gun. “Penny was seriously dead the whole time?” he asks.

Lucy ducks her head and nods. “I wish she wasn’t,” she murmurs. “I would’ve liked to meet my half-sister.”

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

It’s Andrea’s idea to take advantage of the Governor being out of town and take Milton, Karen, Sophie, Cath and Toby to talk sense into the denizens of Woodbury. Lucy wouldn’t let them go without a plan to distract the sentries on the wall. It makes Andrea choke on the coil of disgust that churns in her stomach and gnarls like a lump in her throat to see that most of the people guarding the wall are kids carrying big guns that look out of place in their small hands. Beth, Sophia, Carl, Duane, and Julie all carry back at the prison, but none of them are being forced to fight a war or trained to kill anything but zombies. Rick had told her that Lucy hadn’t even wanted to let Duane, Sophia, Carl, or Beth take watch in the towers, but their parents wanted them to practice long range shooting on the zombies shambling outside the fence. Lucy couldn’t say no: that would’ve made her a hypocrite, because she learned to shoot at sixteen without telling her parents. All things considered, at least the kids at the prison have permission to use a gun.

Nate and Sophie have a plan. Milton is going to lure a horde of zombies down Broad Street using a remote-controlled toy convertible with a slab of meat cut from a possum Daryl had caught in one of his snares that morning in the front seat. After the sentries gather at the wall on the other side of town and their distraction whips the townspeople into a frenzy in fear of a breach, they’re going in through the escape hatch Toby built. Karen is waiting half a mile up the highway in the prison bus that has been sprayed with an aerosolized coating of adhesive mixed with diluted blood from those with immunity to keep the zombies from piling up against it and trying to take a bite out of her to evacuate the townspeople.

It’s a good contingency plan, but they arrive too late. Andrea glances up and gasps in horror as smoke unfurls in the overcast sky. “Woodbury’s on fire,” she whispers.

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Haralson, GA;_  
_Esco Feed Mill._

* * *

Martinez abruptly turns on his heels and walks away instead of shooting at her or taking her hostage. Which surprises her, but Lucy doesn’t get a chance to dwell on that because she hears a bloodcurdling scream on the radio.

“I ain’t gonna beg,” Merle snarls at the other end of the frequency, “I ain’t beggin’ you.”

Lucy hears the gunfire on the radio before the shots ring out from somewhere in the mill, echoing in her ears. When she hobbles into the room where Merle is dying, she finds Daryl crouched next to his brother. Lucy drops her cane and yanks the shirt that Merle is wearing up. It’s gruesome, the mess Blake made of his abdomen—his belly is a gaping maw of blood and gore and he has three bullet holes in the wall of his stomach. Lucy bites down on the inside of her cheek as her own stomach churns with nausea and makes him turn on his side to check for exit wounds. There are two, so one of the slugs is still in his gut.

“We gotta get him outta here,” Daryl says and moves to grab Merle by the arm.

Lucy stops him with a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head. “We can’t move him,” she tells him urgently, “he took three bullets. There’s no way he can make it twenty miles without bleeding out.”

Daryl clenches his jaw and turns to look at her with raw fear in his eyes. “I can’t just watch my brother die,” he grits out. “We gotta do somethin’.”

Lucy gently palpates his belly and warm blood gushes all over her hands, splattering on the sleeves of her shirt. It’s too late to stop the bleeding, since he was shot at point blank range and he’s lost at least three pints of blood—approximately half of the blood in his body. Merle is burning up, the sheen of sweat on his face proof that he might be suffering from acute peritonitis already. If his gastrointestinal tract is compromised, his shit is going to leak out of his bowels into his bloodstream and peritonitis is going to escalate into sepsis. There’s no way for her to know for sure unless she cuts him open to get a better look at the visceral carnage under his skin, and Lucy’s not a surgeon—not even close. It hurts to hold a fork or a spoon in her right hand, let alone a scalpel made for surgical precision that someone like her is physically incapable of possessing. “Merle,” she says, “your bowels are perforated and you’re hemorrhaging all over the place. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve read enough medical textbooks at this point that I know exactly what’s going to happen: you’re showing the symptoms of peritonitis, an inflammation of the abdominal wall. It’s only a matter of time before the inflammation escalates into an infection—”

“I know all about sepsis,” Merle cuts in. “I invaded Panama in 1989, sweetheart—hundreds of people died, hundreds more were injured. I’ve seen this shit before, and I think we both know I’ll bleed out before I die of any fuckin’ infection.”

Lucy glances down at the bleed seeping out of him onto the concrete floor, the blood on her hands that feels so warm it makes her stomach roil. “Yeah,” she murmurs, “you’re probably right.”

Daryl chokes back tears and puts his hand on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing hard enough that she feels his desperation even through the thick straps of her bulletproof vest. “Lucy,” he rasps. “Please…”

Lucy swallows hard and shakes her head slowly. It might’ve been possible to save Merle pre-apocalypse, under the right circumstances: with an ambulance set up for mobile blood transfusions fully stocked with enough O negative to keep him alive during the drive to a hospital and a braindead donor with intestines, a stomach, and maybe a liver up for grabs. Unfortunately, they don’t have organ donors or emergency medical services or transplant centers or hospitals with surgeons on-call in the post-apocalyptic wasteland. Merle was dead the moment Blake pulled the trigger. There was nothing they could’ve done to save him. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Hey.” Merle does his best to grin at Daryl, but he ends up twisting his mouth into a grimace instead because of the searing pain in his stomach. “Lemme go, little brother,” he says. “I wanted it all t’ end this way. Your girlfriend understands why. Otherwise she never would’ve let me outta that prison cell,” he smirks at Lucy before he drawls, “ain’t that right?”

Daryl narrows his eyes at Lucy, curious and dreadful. “What the hell’s he talkin’ about?” he wants to know.

Lucy exhales with enough force to flap her lips in a futile attempt to decompress. “I know you overheard me talking to Merle the other day,” she informs him, “I sent Carol to find you because I knew you would be pissed if I went to visit him behind your back. When I stepped on his feet and pinned his hand so I could put enough pressure on the shoulder he dislocated to hurt him, he didn’t even try to fight me. I remember what he was like—” she slants her gaze to Merle before she stops talking about him like he died while she wasn’t paying attention, “—what you were like at the quarry. Always looking for a fight. I remember how Daryl used to sling epithets at you to make you focus your anger on him, because you went a hell of a lot easier on him than on Glenn or T-Dog or Gabriel or even Shane.” When she says Morales’ first name, she pronounces it the Spanish way: _gah-bri-ell_ , with a roll of the _r_. “There’s no fight left in Merle because of what Blake made him do,” she clarifies as she shifts her focus back to Daryl, “and he doesn’t want to live with himself. If you hadn’t let Rick of all people talk you into letting him come with us today, he would’ve found a way to kill himself in his cell…” she arches her eyebrows at Merle like a challenge, “…am I right?”

Merle doesn’t say anything, but silence has always spoken louder than words for Daryl; he has to swallow the urge to yell at Lucy for letting this happen, because he knows this is the best thing she could’ve done. Hell, his girl being kind enough to give Merle the ability to die with as much dignity as his brother could muster only makes him love her more. It would’ve broken his heart to find Merle dead in his cell. Daryl is pissed off at his brother for going out in a blaze of glory on the battlefield instead of sticking around to make amends for all the shit he’s done, but Merle isn’t going to die in vain. If the Governor kicks the bucket, they can stop fighting a war and get back to living instead of surviving.

“You take good care of him,” Merle says through clenched teeth as tears stab the corners of his eyes and trickle down to mingle with the sweat on his face. “You hear me?”

Daryl reaches out to take his remaining hand in one of his, lets Merle grip his fingers so hard the bones pop in protest while Lucy takes his other hand in both of hers and intertwines their fingers. It seems like his brother approves of her in his own way. Daryl had never expected that, especially since his girl is a vegetarian and Dixons are meat eaters to the core. How ironic is that, in the zombie apocalypse?

“Daryl,” Merle says, “don’t let me turn. Please, little brother—”

Daryl sniffles and hunches to bury his face in the soft frizz of her hair as Lucy watches Merle die, watches the light go out of his eyes. When she killed Nate, it was the dead of night and it was too dark to see that. Lucy wants to shy away, but Daryl can’t bring himself to look and someone needs to see this: to witness his brother.

“‘There is a season for everything, a time for everything under heaven,’” Lucy quotes from memory in a voice that shakes out of her throat, “‘a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather them; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to discard; a time to rip, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.’”

Daryl lets go and draws his hunting knife, shuddering and sobbing while he stabs his brother in the back of the head to stop him from turning into even more of a monster.

“Medusa,” Parker says on the radio, “the Governor escaped. Eliot took a bullet in the shoulder trying to stop him. We’re taking him back to the prison.”

Daryl puts his knife back in its sheath and swallows thickly before he tilts her chin up so he can look her in the eyes. “Our time’s now,” he growls and clenches his fist around the strap of his crossbow slung over his shoulder as they both rise to their feet. “Let’s go put that sumbitch in the ground.”


	38. Down in Flames

**In fairytales, power is rarely the right tool for survival anyway.**  
**Rather the powerless thrive on alliances,**  
**often in the form of reciprocated acts of kindness—**  
**from beehives that were not raided,**  
**birds that were not killed but set free or fed,**  
**old women who were saluted with respect.**  
**Kindness sown among the meek is harvested in crisis.**

Rebecca Solnit, _The Faraway Nearby_

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 38**  
Down in Flames

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Woodbury._

* * *

Lucy catches sight of the smoke from the highway and orders Anton to take a right on Perry Street because she knows that Woodbury is burning. It’s pandemonium, a cacophony of gunmetal shrieks and terrified screams as the people clambering over the walls because they can’t open the gate are torn apart by the zombies on the other side. Andrea, Sophie, Milton, Cath, and Toby must’ve shot through all of their ammo before they arrived, because they’re all using their melee weapons to thin the horde with their guns in their holsters.

 _Puck was Search and Rescue_ , Lucy thinks as Daryl puts his hands on her waist to help her get out of the big rig before he aims his crossbow at the seething horde and fires two bolds that sink into the sunken eyes of the closest walking corpses, _he used to tell me about the wildfires he fought. Blake must’ve set this fire and thrown some kind of accelerant—I’m guessing either gasoline or propane—around like confetti. Otherwise it wouldn’t’ve spread to half the town in the half an hour it took to tarp and drag Merle’s body to the semi before we drove here like bats out of hell_.

Lucy shoves her earplugs in before she unzips her backpack and loads a grenade into the launcher that Nico made for her out of a shotgun back at the farm. “Take cover!” she yells before she blows the gate wide open.

There’s no one in the blast radius, luckily. Unluckily, she can see Blake standing in the middle of Main Street with dozens of dead children scattered around him among the bodies of the soldiers that he gunned down.

Lucy doesn’t hesitate to draw her .22 and shoot him in the face, keeping the promise Daryl made to take his other eye. Blake actually looks surprised for a fraction of the second because he can see her take aim through the ashes and dust before she pulls the trigger. Then he falls, blind and dead to what’s left of the world.

 _It’s not over yet_ , Lucy thinks as Michonne slices and dices the zombies with her katana with Anton at her back with a sledgehammer in his hands. After she takes one earplug out, she puts her earpiece back in. “Karen,” she yells over the gunfire, “bring the prison bus here now!”

“Way ahead of you!” Karen yells back as the prison bus careens to a stop behind their rig.

Sophie grimaces and flicks at a gobbet of gore on her shoulder. Milton is wearing his jacket with duct tape sleeves that zombies can’t gnaw or claw through. Andrea falls into formation with Michonne, back to back; that blatant instinctual display of trust isn’t enough to unbreak things between them, but it’s a start. Cath and Toby run to help the children who made it over the wall get on the prison bus.

“Medusa,” Kate says urgently over the radio, “do you need backup?”

Lucy shakes her head so fast she almost discombobulates herself even though she knows her friend can’t see her. “No backup, Sparklebutt,” she orders. “Vulcan, use the drones to clear us a path on the highway down Bullsboro Drive. We’re evacuating Woodbury.” Then she adjusts her grip on her cane and hobbles into the smoldering town. “Go!” she yells over her shoulder.

Until she crouches in the street and sees the Governor on the ground with his mouth open and his jaw slack with shock, it feels unreal. Lucy bites down on the inside of her cheek as she takes in the havoc that he wreaked, the massacre that she might have been able to prevent if she—

Lucy flinches at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder before she recognizes the fingers, how they curl over the strap of her bulletproof vest while the heel of his palm settles on top of the words permanently inked on her skin. _Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc_ , she thinks. _We gladly feast on those who would subdue us_.

“It ain’t your fault,” Daryl says gruffly, “don’t go blamin’ yourself. You hear me?”

Lucy blushes hot because he knows her all too well, body and mind. “Okay,” she mumbles.

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Bullsboro Drive._

* * *

There are only twelve survivors, all told. Dr. Stevens, who introduces herself to Lucy as Alice. Eileen, a blonde woman in her midtwenties who almost dies of smoke inhalation before they get back to the prison where Amy is waiting to intubate her and the nameless infant born two days ago that she hadn’t wanted to name because she rented her womb out as a surrogate pre-apocalypse and ended up carrying the baby to term in the post-apocalyptic wasteland. Randolph Jacobsen, a black man in his midfifties with a rip in his shirt to showcase where a bullet had grazed his side. Jeanette, a black middle-aged woman with smoke unfurling from her hair who brings two orphans with her: eight-year-old Luke and ten-year-old Molly. Luisa McLeod, a widow in her midsixties and a former army sergeant with severe osteoarthritis in her hands. Greg, a middle-aged man with red hair streaked with strands of gray, his wife Cait—short for Caitriona—and their two children: twelve-year-old Eryn and ten-year-old Owen.

Cath bursts out laughing on the prison bus. “Oh god,” she whispers to Lucy conspiratorially, “another Catherine. It’s an abundance of Katherines.”

Lucy snorts as she taps her earpiece. “Vulcan,” she says, “how’s Eliot?”

“Fine,” Alec tells her, “the bullet didn’t puncture his lung or sever any major arteries. Mostly he’s just pissed the Governor got away.”

“I shot the Governor in the face,” Lucy informs him, “let Eliot know. It should cheer him up. After that, I want you to send drones into the woods to search for survivors who might’ve escaped from Woodbury before we started evacuating people.”

“Medusa,” Glenn says, “we can’t let a fire spread to the forest. Sasha and I want to take a team of volunteers to the fire department on Jefferson Street to get a truck and put the fire out.”

Lucy bites her lip and nods. Sasha was a firefighter pre-apocalypse. There’s no reason not to delegate this hot mess to someone who knows her shit. “Okay,” she murmurs, “get it done.”

There’s blood on her hands, dried and flaking. Daryl isn’t on the prison bus, he’s in the back of the big rig with the bodies—Merle’s and Blake’s. Lucy, as his only living daughter, made the decision to donate his body to science. Daryl not being with her is making her anxiety worse, and she can feel the impending meltdown that always crashes into her in the aftermath of yet another crisis.

When she looks up, the people from Woodbury are staring at her; even Eileen, who can’t stop coughing up black phlegm. It reminds Lucy of the Christmas that she forgot to check the oven before she tried to bake a quiche and ended up going to the hospital for a chest X-ray. When she asks them what the hell had happened in Woodbury, Luisa explains that Martinez refused to attack the prison and told everyone the Governor had lied about how Penny died. Blake had shot him where he stood and started the fire in the room where he kept his undead daughter in a cage before he shot up Main Street.

It occurs to her that he must’ve started the fire because he didn’t want her people to scavenge any supplies from his town, from among the ruins. _Good riddance_ , Lucy thinks viciously as Karen brakes and parks the prison bus in the inner courtyard outside the administrative building.

Dulcie hugs her as soon as she hobbles off the bus while Neeley holds Rita, who gurgles and squirms in his arms. Lucy swallows hard and hugs her back, careful not to crush the slip of a girl who married her brother. “Bienvenida,” Dulcie says and smiles at her.

 _Welcome home_.

* * *

_Wednesday, 27 April 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 319._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

It takes all day for Sasha, Tyreese, Gilda, Gert, Glenn, Maggie, and Hershel to put out the fire. Blake must’ve used all of the fuel he had on hand to feed the flames out of spite. Lucy spends the afternoon delegating contingencies and damage control, watching Daryl bury his brother under a maple tree by the creek, and waiting for all the blood to drain out of the dead body they dragged into the prison. It’s grotesque to hang a corpse with tubes in all of the major arteries upside-down by the feet and wait for gravity to work a little magic, but Lucy doesn’t want to waste the blood of someone with immunity. Nobody is going to want a transfusion from the Governor, but they can aerosolize his diluted blood and use his evil remains for good.

Daryl finds her in the infirmary harvesting bone and tissue samples from the bloodless corpse of her biological father later that night. Amy did the incisions for her because Lucy can’t hold a scalpel, but she doesn’t have any trouble with the bone saw. It doesn’t require the same level of precision.

Lucy extracts the bloodless heart from where she cracked the chest open and holds it up in the cradle of her hands for him to see. “I’m thinking of preserving this in a jar with formaldehyde,” she informs him, “would that creep you out?”

Daryl shakes his head slowly. Lucy wanting to keep a heart in a jar as a spoil of war isn’t any weirder than his habit of stringing up the scraps of his kills to mark his territory like he had back at the farm. It’s eerily similar to Blake keeping the disembodied heads of his victims in fish tanks, but he’s smart enough not to mention that because the similarity ends in context. Violence is always an answer for Lucy, but it’s never _the_ answer like it was for the Governor. If she were more like him, their victory would’ve come at a much higher cost. “Nah,” he says gruffly. It’s been a hell of a day, and he needs her with a raw intensity that scares him shitless. Merle is gone, but that’s not the end of the world. If he’d lost her instead of his brother, that would be another story. “You almost done?” he wants to know.

Lucy bites her lip and plops the heart into the jar she filled with methanal. “I am,” she tells him softly. “If you need me to be.”

Daryl watches her drape a plastic sheet over the body and strip out of her polyethylene apron before Lucy throws her surgical gloves in the garbage and hangs her goggles on the hook above the apron. There are stains on her white lab coat, and shucking it stirs up a cloud of bone dust that makes Lucy cough as she hangs the coat on the hook to the left of the apron. Daryl comes up behind her so quickly and quietly that she doesn’t hear him so much as feel his hands on her waist. Lucy bites her bottom lip to muffle the moan that gets caught in her throat as Daryl breathes down her neck, his nose a soft nudge against the side of her neck while he nuzzles his cheek into the hyperbola where her neck meets her shoulder.

It doesn’t seem to bother him that she stinks of smoke, blood, sweat, and chemical fumes. Lucy has seen him in the aftermath of a hunt—field dressing and skinning all kinds of animals from squirrels and wild rabbits to deer and feral hogs—so that doesn’t come as a surprise. Hell, he wanted to eat her out during her last period to help her get rid of a massive menstrual migraine, but she was too shy to let him try.

Daryl hunches over her shoulder to nuzzle her cheek with his nose before he puts one hand on her face and tilts her chin up so he can kiss her desperately. If anyone can make her forget that she’s been elbow deep in a dead guy for six hours sawing bones and harvesting marrow, it’s him.

Love is weird that way.


	39. Revolution

**What do you call womanhood**  
**if not endurance, the ways we**  
**withstand that which we did not**  
**believe withstandable, and then**  
**put our own holy hands to work?**

 **Call me survivor.**  
**It is the ugliest triumph I own,**  
**but it is mine.**  
**It is mine.**

Brenna Twohy, “Hey Jeff Probst! I Wanna Be on Your Show”

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 39**  
Revolution

* * *

_Wednesday, 4 May 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 326._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

It takes a week for Lucy to notice the change in Daryl, how he doesn’t stray far from her. Things are hectic at the prison now that Woodbury is ashes: they’ve built up the wall to just below the barbed wire on top of the fence, they’re building a foundation to fortify the outermost fence with shipping containers as a second line of defense in between the wall and their pit traps, they’re lining up shipping containers along the highway to keep the road clear of zombies, they’re using a fire truck to wipe out hordes of the undead with the diluted blood Lucy drained from the body of the Governor, they’re scavenging and stockpiling a surplus of supplies in the empty cell blocks, they’re taking cuttings from orchards to transplant as new trees that should bear fruit within the year, and they’re gridding a map to sweep the state of Georgia for other survivors. It takes a week for Lucy to notice that Daryl is dogging her steps because she’s been coordinating all of that and keeping meticulous records of who’s doing what.

There’s something almost clawlike in his touch, his fingers curled and clinging like he doesn’t want to let go every time he puts his hands on her. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s being more physical with her—more protective, more affectionate, more possessive. Daryl is marking his territory, but Lucy has a feeling that he’s also using his touch to tell her what he can’t put into words unless they’re alone together: _you’re mine. I’m yours. I can’t lose you like I lost my brother. I’m gonna keep you safe_. It’s sweet of him, but she’s not thrilled by that because he should be out hunting big game instead of staying close to home. Daryl himself told her that springtime in Georgia is the perfect time to hunt feral hogs and wild turkeys.

Lucy glances up from her ginormous to-do list to find him watching her from a chair by the desk where he keeps his archery stuff: bolts, arrowheads, spools of string and wire, sticks he whittled down to smooth wooden shafts, and an assortment of tin cans filled with glass for making arrowheads and feathers for fletching. Daryl treads like a hunter, and she was so focused on her plans for the future that she didn’t see him coming or hear him walk in; he could’ve been watching her for hours and she wouldn’t have known. Only the smoldering heat of his stare gave him away. Those blue eyes burn so hot that his gaze could melt permafrost. Lucy shuts her listography notebook and looks him in the eyes without flinching. “You should be out in the woods,” she tells him softly. “You’re the best hunter we have.”

“Rick knows how t’ check and reset my snares,” Daryl points out.

Lucy sighs. “Rick can’t track for shit,” she retorts, “and we need more than whatever gets caught in your snares now that we have fifty people to feed.”

Nobody knows how to hunt and track like he does, and everyone who isn’t a vegetarian with an alpha-gal allergy needs a source of protein other than fresh eggs and canned beans to survive. Eliot is supervising the construction of a smokehouse, but they’re out of meat because Daryl had no time to hunt in the past month between scavenging on the road and settling at the prison and waging a war with Woodbury. There’s fruit they picked from the orchards where they’ve taken cuttings and milk and cheese from the dairy cow on the menu, but they subsist on canned food and pasta more often than not.

Lucy gnaws on the inside of her cheek as anxiety churns through her because she hasn’t wanted to push him into talking about his grief. Daryl isolated himself back at the farm before she rode out of the woods on a white freaking horse and he kissed her for the first time, and he almost died. It wasn’t a coincidence that he hallucinated his brother at the bottom of that ravine: he thought Merle was dead and he risked his life to find her because he didn’t want to lose her like he lost him. Daryl isn’t being reckless or pushing her away, but he’s not doing what needs to get done either and that needs to change. Lucy stops chewing on her cheek and exhales with enough force to flap her lips in a futile attempt to decompress. “I didn’t think our relationship would last,” she informs him matter-of-factly, “the crush I had on you back at the quarry was my way of coping with how scared and hopeless I felt and I didn’t even let myself call it a crush for weeks because I was fucking terrified of how I feel about you. When I got lost in the forest with Sophia, I ran into the woods even though I had no idea where anything was or how to find my way back to the group because I knew you would find me.”

 _I believe in you_ , she had said to him over the radio and she had meant it with all her heart. Lucy had more faith in him than she’d ever had in herself or any higher power, and that revelation was terrifying. Daryl is staring at her with a much softer look in his eyes now. It’s still intense, but more intimate than hot. This man knows her better in some ways than people who’ve known her since high school do, and that shines through in the way his gaze flicks down to the bruise still blooming in shades of putrid green and yellow on her chest before he meets her eyes again. Daryl of all people knows how it feels to take a licking and keep on ticking, knows why she’s not trying to hide the evidence that she took a bullet to the chest and survived.

Lucy smiles at him in the shy way she has that makes his heart stutter deep in his chest and heat crawl up the back of his neck. “I’m glad I was wrong,” she says. “I’m glad I rode out of the woods and found you instead. I’m glad you kissed me and I’m glad we’re still in love, because even though it hasn’t even been nine months since then it feels like we’ve been together for years.”

Daryl swallows hard. It takes everything he’s got to stop himself from asking her to marry him again, because she deserves better than another spur of the moment proposal. There’s still a box with a ring inside that he tucked into the pocket of his vest, but he’s not going to pop that question a third and hopefully final time without some grand romantic gesture up his sleeve. “Why’d you think we weren’t gonna last?” he wants to know.

Lucy shrugs, one-shouldered. “When people feel a spark,” she murmurs, “what they’re actually feeling is a flood of adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin in the brain. When the spark goes out, it means your brain has adapted to the increased levels of those neurotransmitters in your system. I thought maybe wanting me was your way of chasing a more natural high than meth. After you almost died trying to find me, I realized your feelings for me ran a hell of a lot deeper than addiction or chemical attraction. I told you that I love you and the rest…” she shrugs again, “…is history.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils before he smiles at her, a soft twitch of his lips. “I love you, too,” he says gruffly.

Lucy smiles back, short and sweet. “I need you to get back out there,” she tells him, “our people need you. If this is your way of mourning your brother—”

“It ain’t,” Daryl says as a growl of frustration snarls deep in his chest and crawls out of his throat. “I just wanna be with you, is all.”

Lucy shuffles over to stand in front of him without bothering to hide how hobbled she is, keeping her weight off her bad ankle. Daryl squints at her through the thin strands of hair that keep falling into his eyes as she puts her hands on his shoulders for balance and splays his hands over the soft curve of her waist as she sits on his lap and lets him take her weight. Lucy scoots until her body is flush against his from hip to chest and snakes her arms around his shoulders to hold him as she hunches to kiss the crook of his neck. Daryl crushes her even closer to him before he buries his face in her hair, clinging to her with desperate calm while he nuzzles the soft frizz with his cheek and inhales deeply through his nose to burn her intoxicating scent into his brain all over again.

 _Mine_ , he thinks and tangles one hand in the hair at the nape of her neck to pull her into a kiss so hard and so hot that she forgets how to breathe for a few minutes. When he bites her bottom lip, she opens up for him and he slips his tongue deep inside her mouth.

Lucy clutches at the leather of his vest while she sucks on his tongue and they’re so close that her nose is nudging his cheek, softly. Daryl breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against hers and tries not to grind his throbbing hardon into the apex of her thighs because he doesn’t want to fuck her right now in spite of what his dick is doing, he just needs to fill all of his senses with her until the world narrows down to them and nothing else.

“Y’know,” Daryl mutters, “Merle never did nothin’ selfless in his whole life. I miss him somethin’ awful even after everythin’ he did, but I’m better off without him in the long run. It ain’t like that with us,” he says and strokes her hair almost reverently, “we’re good together. Ya’ make me better.”

Lucy shakes her head slowly and pulls back to look at him. When she cups his face with both hands, his stubble rasps against her palms and he looks at her like she’s the only god he’s ever believed in. “You’re a good man,” she tells him, “with or without me. You always were.”

Daryl swallows around the lump in his throat and tugs on her hair to drag her into another kiss, with teeth. “I’m gonna talk t’ Nico about gettin’ a huntin’ party together sometime tomorrow,” he says as she breaks the kiss to adjust her glasses. “Okay?”

Lucy kisses his nose and grins at the cockeyed stare he gives her. “Okay,” she says.

* * *

_Monday, 27 June 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 379._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

Lucy calls for an election on the second meniversary of the fall of Woodbury, since the group has doubled in size and it doesn’t seem right that only half of them got a chance to choose their leader. Rick actually votes for her the second time around, but they end up forming a council to make the delegation of duties more formal. Lucy creates a list of divisions and lets people volunteer to be in charge of things. Cartographies, for mapping the state to figure out where the hordes are shambling and plan routes to either avoid them or annihilate them. Comestibles, for cooking the food and creating a supply of potable water. Mechanics, to salvage the remnants of technologies around them so Nico can build more solar panels and scarp the metal from more cars and Alec can invent whatever his heart desires. Agriculture, for farming, jarring, dehydrating, canning, seeding, and gathering plants with medicinal properties they might need in the future. Medical, for when people inevitably get hurt. Suppliers, for those who go out scavenging for supplies. Cleaners, for keeping the communal parts of the prison spick and span to prevent infection from spreading in close quarters. Combat and weapons training, for anyone who wants to learn how to shoot or fight. Guard duty, for shifts in the towers. Pit crew, for clearing the corpses out of the trenches. Inventories and records, for keeping track of everything. Research and development, for science.

Daryl is put in charge of hunting and gathering, and he comes across the first strangers they’ve seen in months while scouting out a new hunting ground later that day: a multiracial lesbian in army fatigues named Alisha. When he aims his crossbow at her, she glares at him as her hand creeps up her thigh to the handle of the small but sharp ax strapped to the belt around her waist. “How many zombies’ve you killed?” he asks her as Eliot silently moves through the trees behind her to tackle her if she tries to take a swing at him.

“It’s been a year since the shit hit the fan,” Alisha snaps at him. “I lost count.”

Daryl squints at her, scrutinizing. “How many people?” he wants to know.

Alisha stops with the slow movement of her hand and slumps her shoulders. “One,” she says, “my mother was bitten a few months ago. I killed her so she wouldn’t turn.”

Daryl nods brusquely. “I did the same for my brother,” he tells her before he asks, “you got a group?”

Alisha clenches her hands into fists and shakes her head. “Not anymore,” she tells him. “Our camp got overrun last night. None of the others made it out alive.”

Daryl slants his gaze to the M4A1 carbine slung across her back and bites the bullet. “How d’you feel about meetin’ some new people?” he asks.

It’s the first of many new beginnings.


	40. New Beginnings

**Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically:**  
**the cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins,**  
**we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes.**

D. H. Lawrence, _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_

* * *

_Zreaks of Nature_  
**Part 3**  
Let Us Prey  
**Vol. IX**  
_This Sorrowful Life_  
**Chapter 40**  
New Beginnings

* * *

_Sunday, 31 July 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 413._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

It takes almost three months for Lucy to stop having nightmares about smoldering children, their bodies scattered in the street like garbage as fire consumed the township of Woodbury. Not even falling asleep with Daryl spooning her from behind can keep those bad dreams away, but that doesn’t come as a surprise her because she always knew true love wouldn’t be a magical solution to her problems. Waking up with the smell of burning flesh lingering in her nostrils isn’t as bad as screaming into her pillow because she could feel and smell her rapist in the trauma flashbacks that had come to her as teenage dreams, though. Truth be told, Lucy has survived a hell of a lot worse than a few months of nightmares.

 _This too shall pass_ , she thinks vehemently as she cuddles back against the warmth of Daryl behind her at the most ungodly hour of the morning and fakes inhaling deeply and exhaling softly until she makes it and falls back to sleep.

Cath throws a handful of confetti at her face on the morning of her twenty-eighth birthday and Lucy flails awake, spitting out metallic sparkles and glaring at the blotch that is her best friend as she puts her glasses back on. “What the fuck,” she rasps, her throat dry from sleeping with her mouth open.

“Happy birthday,” Cath and Kate chorus while Nico grins at her.

Lucy flicks more confetti out of her frizzy hair. It flutters onto the cacophonously colorful crocheted blanket her grandmother made before she faded away in a haze of dementia and died a slow death, the one she brought on the road trip from Seattle to Orlando in case she felt homesick. “Oh,” she mumbles as she grinds the remnants of sleep out of the corners of her eyes, “shit. I forgot.”

Cath and Nico exchange a look. Lucy’s birthday pre-apocalypse was a weeklong thing: trips to Pike Place for piroshky, fresh-baked cheese pizza from the market two miles from her parents’ house in Poulsbo, dinner with yellow cake and strawberries in lemonade mixed with pale pink champagne. It was the one time of the year the girls had always spent together before they found themselves stranded in post-apocalyptic wasteland. Lucy forgetting about her birthday means she’s more depressed than she’s been since the year she didn’t get up unless they came over and dragged her ass out of bed.

Kate boops her forehead, two fingertips poking at the freckled skin hidden by the bluntness of her bangs. “Get up, loser,” she quips. “We’re going bowling.”

* * *

_Sunday, 31 July 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 413._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_Junction Lanes._

* * *

There’s a bowling alley three miles up Highway 34, the main attraction at a family entertainment center with an arcade and an indoor mini-golf course and a restaurant with bar food and a couple of pool tables. It’s lit up inside the alley but dark in the arcade, so Nico must’ve hooked up a generator and used the switchboard to redirect power to certain parts of the building. There aren’t too many people at her birthday party because life in the post-apocalyptic wasteland doesn’t stop for anyone. Hershel is supervising the beginning of their summer harvest, Rick is helping plant out their summer crops so they can harvest them in the fall, Nate is outlining plans for expansion to wall off some industrial buildings where they can manufacture things and create a localized infrastructure so they don’t have to scavenge as many supplies, Alec is trying to hook up a wireless network so they can have their own version of the Internet at the prison, and Caleb took a team to raid the genetic research lab at Emory University that morning. If they can’t find a genetic sequencer at Emory, they’re going to have to raid Georgia Tech. Lucy hasn’t set foot in Atlanta in almost a year, and she has a bad feeling she can’t seem to shake off about traveling into the heart of the city again.

Michonne, Andrea, Amy, Gilda, Gert, Glenn, Maggie, Neeley, Dulcie, Toby, Karen, Noah, Carol, Sophia, Duane, Carl, Julie, and a geeky fifteen-year-old boy named Patrick who arrived at the prison a month ago with a group of survivors Daryl had found on the road are waiting by a table with a cake and a 24-pack of Dr. Pepper with a bow on top. Lucy smiles as the neon light stains her phosphorescent blue and shuffles over to sit in one of the plastic chairs.

When he slinks out of the shadows in the arcade, Daryl catches sight of Lucy and grins around the flashlight in his mouth. After he puts his crossbow on the floor by the chair to her right and tucks the flashlight in the back pocket of his jeans, he plops an owl stuffie he broke into the claw machine to get into her lap and scoops one hand under her chin to tilt her face up so he can kiss her upside-down. Lucy squeaks with laughter that he muffles with his mouth and squeezes his forearm as his beard tickles her nose. Neeley starts belting out a loud off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” as soon as Daryl breaks the kiss and sits in the chair next to the birthday girl, who groans as the others add their voices into the mix and disharmonize the second repetitive verse of the song.

Daryl flicks his gaze to the brace on her wrist as Kate procures a lightweight ball for her and puts it down in the chair across from them. “I didn’t think you could bowl,” he says, “with your hand…”

Lucy shrugs. “After we graduated from high school,” she clarifies, “we went bowling every week that summer and eventually we started dressing up for theme nights. Eighties style. Formalwear. I had pink hair,” she adds with a snort that makes one corner of his mouth unfurl in a crooked grin. “It was so much fun. I think Cath and Nico must’ve planned this party as a throwback.”

Daryl squints at her in the neon light and tries to imagine her younger self, with pink hair and dressed to the nines instead of dressed to kill. When he rubs the split end of her thick braid in between his thumb and forefingers, she blushes and smiles at him in the shy way she has that never fails to make his heart stutter deep in his chest. “I like your hair now,” he says gruffly.

Lucy smiles wider and takes his hand because she knows he means he likes her the way that she is now. “I don’t think I’ve had so many people at a birthday party of mine since I was a kid,” she says as Daryl intertwines their fingers and strokes her knuckles with his calloused thumb. “It was just me, my parents, Stella, Neeley, Dulcie, Cath, Kate, Nico, and Vera for about six years, and never all of them on the same day unless my birthday was on a weekend.”

“You miss ’em,” Daryl says as Michonne picks up her ball and holds it with an intense look in her dark brown eyes before she throws a strike. “You wish they were here with us.”

Lucy swallows thickly. “Yup,” she whispers, “every fucking day.”

Daryl exhales with enough force to flare his nostrils. Lucy doesn’t talk about her family much, and he doesn’t want to pick at her open wounds. Still, he knows that he would follow her to the ends of the earth and he needs her to know it too. “We’re gonna go back for ’em someday,” he says with slow vehemence, “together.”

Lucy squeezes her eyes shut as hard as she can and sucks in a sharp breath. “You mean that?” she asks.

Daryl hums his answer, a soft _mm-hmm_. “I ain’t never been outta Georgia,” he mutters as she opens her eyes and looks at him instead of shying away for once. “I wanna see where ya’ grew up.”

Lucy scoots over and puts the hand he isn’t holding on his face before she kisses him softly, sweetly, slowly. Daryl smooths his other hand up from the soft curve of her waist into the hollow between her shoulder blades while he kisses her back. Lucy stops to scoop up the owl stuffie that had fallen out of her lap and plops it onto the table next to her 24-pack that she plans to ration because the world is going to run out of Dr. Pepper someday.

“I’d tell you guys to get a room,” Nico cuts in with a smirk and jabs her thumb at the screen above them, “but you’re up.”

Lucy snorts as she grabs her ball and hobbles over to stand in front of the lane as the gutters rise to meet her. There’s no way for her to bowl a perfect game, but that doesn’t bother her the way that it might have once upon a time. All that matters now is how much better she feels without the weight of what’s left of the world on her shoulders.

* * *

_Monday, 22 August 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 435._  
_Senoia, GA;_  
_The Greene Farm._

* * *

It’s Lucy’s idea to drive back to the farm and unbury Merle’s disembodied hand so his whole body would be pushing up daisies in his grave at the prison instead of being scattered around Coweta County. Daryl puts that idea on the backburner while he helps her get things in order at the prison, until it spirals into another idea of his own. Hershel, Maggie, and Beth didn’t want to come with them because they didn’t want to see their ancestral home in ruins. When he turns down Chestlehurst Road and parks the pickup in the dirt, Lucy expects to see desolation where the farmhouse was.

What she sees instead are solar panels and strands of twinkle lights illuminating the stable, the wooden structure that miraculously survived the shambling horde because the horses spooked and ran off into the night. Lucy steps out of the truck and winces as her shoulder bumps into the door on her way out, its metal edge digging into the bandage taped over the tattoo Karen did for her a few days ago. It mirrors her other shoulder tattoo, a quote in pseudo-Latin. _Nolite te bastardes carborundorum_ : don’t let the bastards grind you down. Technically “bastardes” isn’t a word in Latin—the word for “bastard” is actually _spurius_ or _nothos_ —and neither is “carborundorum” for that matter, but she loves Margaret Atwood too much to nitpick the linguistics of the phrase.

Daryl splays one of his hands over the small of her back as she draws her .22 with its suppressor threaded onto the barrel and shoots the only zombie they can see for miles in between the eyes, the heel of his palm fitting into the arch of her spine as the kickback flares against the inside of her arthritic wrist. “Nice,” he grunts as she puts her pistol back in the holster attached to the belt around her waist.

Lucy narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses and he flushes red under her scrutiny before he spits the remnants of the cinnamon stick he was chewing out with an uncouth wet noise that sounds like _ptooey_. _Oh_ , she thinks, _he’s so nervous_. “Ask me,” she says out loud.

Daryl swallows hard and steers her into the stable, his fingers curled into the curve of her waist now. “This is where you first said you loved me,” he murmurs before he takes his hand off her and sinks down on one knee. “This stable’s still standin’ against all odds, jus’ like you’ve been since we met that day by the side of the road. I thought about bringin’ you t’ a library or a bookstore or a museum—and I’m gonna take you t’ all those places I had mapped out ’cause I know you like that sort of thing—but I wanted t’ bring you here ’cause you need to know that what we have was built to last right from the beginnin’. I ain’t much for makin’ big damn speeches. I loved you then, and I still do. I wanna be with you for the rest of our lives. I asked you twice before,” he fumbles with the ring and holds the open box up like an offering, “and I’m gonna ask again. Marry me.”

Lucy tucks her cane in the crook of her elbow to make sure both of her hands are free and nods. “Yes,” she says.

Daryl blinks at her like he was half-expecting her to say _Nice try_ or _Close, but no cigar_ before he puts the ring on her finger and tugs her into a kiss so hot that she feels it from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Lucy moans into his mouth and lets him pin her to the door of one of the empty stalls until she breaks the kiss to wince at the dull twinge of pain in her shoulder. Daryl nuzzles her nose and rests his forehead against hers. “C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s go dig up that damn hand.”

* * *

_Monday, 22 August 1 ZA._  
_Global Outbreak: Day 435._  
_Newnan, GA;_  
_West Georgia Correctional Facility._

* * *

It takes a few hours for Lucy and Daryl to finally drive home because they get down and dirty in the back of the pickup truck before they get down to the dirtier business of gravedigging and scavenging. There were heads of lettuce, beets, parsnips, watermelons, sweet potatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, basil, and carrots that reseeded at the farm across the street and they harvest a truck bed full of vegetables before they go back to the prison to rebury the hand.

Gareth, a thin man with sharp eyes and unkempt brown hair, watches them unseen from the woods by their cemetery under the sugar maple trees and grins at his brother Alex. “I think we found Medusa,” he says.


End file.
